


Hide & Seek

by lacedpink



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Enemies to Lovers, F/M, Forced Partnership, Hogwarts Era, Hogwarts Fifth Year, Hogwarts Fourth Year, Hogwarts Seventh Year, Hogwarts Sixth Year, Kidnapping, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-29
Updated: 2021-01-14
Packaged: 2021-03-10 04:27:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 18
Words: 80,270
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27778378
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lacedpink/pseuds/lacedpink
Summary: Gemma Bane was told one thing when she transferred to Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Befriending Harry Potter will get you killed.What they failed to tell her was that befriending the Chosen One could also get you kidnapped._When Gemma Bane's involvement in the Triwizard Tournament results in her getting kidnapped by the Dark Lord himself, there's only one person with the connections to get her back. Bitter enemies since she transferred to Hogwarts, Draco Malfoy and Gemma are the furthest thing from friends, but late-night detentions and Astronomy Tower rendezvous may stand to prove the two mean more to each other than either is willing to admit. An extremely slow burn (but worth it), Year 4 and all that follows Draco/OC fic, inspired by the Tik Tok edit from @abbiehwxThis story is also posted on Wattpad under the same username 'lacedpink'. Both of these accounts are owned by me!A few disclaimers: I do not support JK Rowling and her abysmal transphobic views. I do use direct quotes from the novels sometimes seeing as I'm retelling exact scenes, but I will state in the beginning of these chapters if this is the case :) not trying to take any credit
Relationships: Draco Malfoy/Original Character(s)
Comments: 2
Kudos: 7





	1. Vorfreude

**Author's Note:**

> DISCLAIMER: 
> 
> I do not own any of the original Harry Potter characters, world, or plot. The stories and their livelihood belong to J.K. Rowling. Any characters, world-building, or plotlines that diverge from the original books alternatively are mine.
> 
> This story is also posted on Wattpad under the same username 'lacedpink'. Both of these accounts are owned by me!

**_Chapter 1_ **  
**VORFREUDE**

vorfreude  
_(n.) the joyful, intense anticipation that comes from imagining future pleasures_

**THE** crash of porcelain against brick cut sharply through the chilly evening air, disturbing the few birds that sat perched outside the small cottages kitchen window.

"Bloody hell, Gideon. Was that really necessary?" Gemma Bane furrowed her brow in frustration, throwing a quick glare at her younger brother who sat giggling at the round dining table.

She pushed up the sleeves of her beige sweater to her elbows as she crouched down, delicately picking up the scattered pieces of the shattered plate. Gideon's powers were starting to get out of hand, the 4 year old exhibiting "accidents" like these more and more frequently. Gemma's summer at home had mostly been spent sweeping up numerous sets of broken china, it was a mystery how the Bane's had any left to eat off of.

The little boy just grinned cheekily at his older sister, getting a kick out of her annoyed huffs. With the bits gathered in her hand, Gemma maneuvered her way over to the rubbish bin.

"If I was allowed to use magic over break, you wouldn't be looking so smug," she grumbled, throwing a longing glance at the various trunks stacked by the door which housed all her school supplies.

Only a few more days and she'd finally be returning to Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry to begin her 2nd year. She would technically be a 4th year, having transferred in the year prior. She could remember her first day vividly, the smell of steam and excitement as she'd boarded the Hogwarts Express still fresh in her nostrils. She sighed with longing, wanting nothing more than to be back in the Gryffindor common room, cozied up around the fire with her friends.

Speaking of friends, Gemma's reminiscing was cut short by the screeching arrival of a heather grey owl who landed gently in the middle of the kitchen. Gideon clapped his hands with glee, wiggling his fingers in an attempt to touch her soft feathers.

Gemma's face brightened at the sight of a letter clamped in the owl's beak and dashed over hurriedly to see who it was from, her heart pounding in anticipation.

"Thank you, Lady," she gave the bird a soft stroke, grabbing the envelope from her owl's grasp. Lady gave a soft noise of affection, nuzzling into her owner's cool palm.

Having heard the news of the Death Eaters attack at the Quidditch World Cup, Gemma had been anxiously awaiting word from her friends who'd been in attendance. Tearing the wax seal from the paper, she eagerly unfolded the parchment which contained a brief paragraph written in loopy ink strokes.

_Dearest Gemma,_

_I hope the remainder of your summer has been well. I'm writing to inform you that Harry, Ron, and I are safe after the attack on the campsite. I apologize for the delay in communication and hope you have not been too worried. There's much to explain upon our return to school, but for now, I wish only to ensure you of our safety. Looking forward to seeing you very soon._

_Hermione_

Relief flooded Gemma's mind at the knowledge that her friends were in fact safe. She'd assumed as much, but the solidification of her suspicions eased the tension that had been kept tight in her shoulders since the Dark Mark had graced the sky.

Things were changing, and Gemma knew this year would be very different from last. Sure, saving Sirius had been an adventure, but the Death Eaters were most certainly a different story.

"What's that you've got there?" came a voice from the doorway, causing Gemma to look up at its source. Her mother, Jocelyn Bane, was standing there as she dusted the remnants of Floo powder from her skirt.

"A letter from Hermione," Gemma explained, "Letting me know that she and the boys are safe."

Jocelyn smiled, walking further into the room. She kissed her daughter on the cheek, and then lifted Gideon from his chair, doing the same to him.

"That's great to hear, darling. The Ministry has been in complete disarray since the news broke."

Jocelyn had worked in the Department of International Magic Cooperation at the Ministry since before Gemma and her brother were born, and was consistently busy with all sorts of business. Nevertheless, she always managed to be there for her children. After the passing of Gemma's father shortly after Gideon's birth, Jocelyn had only become more determined to take on the challenges of motherhood.

Tucking the letter into the pocket of her trousers, Gemma nodded in acknowledgment of her mother's words.

"I can only imagine," she agreed.

"How was your brother today?" Jocelyn wondered aloud, waving her wand casually as she began to prepare dinner. The stove roared to life with a quick flick, fire licking the iron coils.

"Lost another plate. Nearly took my head off with it, too," Gemma said pointedly, adjusting the black bow that held half of her light brown tresses away from her face.

Her mother tutted softly, shaking her head. Setting the knives to start chopping vegetables, she readjusted her son on her hip.

"You certainly are a handful, aren't you?" she mumbled.

Distracted by the contents of the parchment in her pocket, Gemma excused herself to her room to draft a reply to her friends before dinner. She took the stairs two at a time, Lady following swiftly as she pushed open the door into her comfortably sized room and collapsed into her desk chair.

The sun had faded into a deep, indigo sky beyond her curtains, and she found herself gazing up at the few spots of light starting to dot themselves across the night. There was comfort in the fact that her friends were under the same stars as well, and would soon be within the same castle walls shortly.

Gemma hurriedly scribbled a reply to Hermione, and gave it to Lady who departed from the window with a silent flap of her wings. The sound of crickets was beginning to mingle with the clang of pots and pans from downstairs, but as much as she found comfort in the sounds of her childhood home, Gemma couldn't help but ache for the murmurs of the Great Hall.

Why did August seem to be never-ending?

__

On the morning of September 1st, Gemma had arisen before the sun, much to her mother's dismay. Jocelyn had been woken by the sound of her daughter's trunks being repeatedly opened and closed as she triple checked that she had all her belongings. Lady sat comfortably on the perch in her cage, the picture of calm in juxtaposition to her owner's frantic energy. Dressed in a simple cream mock-neck t-shirt and maroon skirt for the journey, Gemma was itching to put on her robes already.

She could practically taste the trolley sweets on her tongue.

After a few haste goodbyes and promises to write to her mother and brother, her journey to Kings Cross was swift and efficient. Gemma's fingers fiddled with the hem of her skirt the whole way in restlessness, only stopping to firmly grasp the handles of her cart as she pushed through to the barrier and onto Platform 9 3/4.

Immediately she was met with the shouts of wizards and witches darting back and forth, parents looking forlorn yet proud as their first years bordered the train. The smile that stretched across her face was subconscious and wide.

She found her eyes scanning the crowd for the familiar flash of red hair, curls, or glasses. Having not received a response from Hermione in the past few days, she wasn't even sure if her friends were taking the Hogwarts Express, but her desire to see their faces was insurmountable nonetheless.

Deciding she better grab a compartment before they were all taken, she made her way through the crowd and boarded the scarlet engine. Making her way down the train corridor, the chatter of excited and nervous students slipped past her. The jitters in her stomach that had been steadily growing stronger surged, causing a shiver to pass down her spine in anticipation.

She was almost to the section of the train where the 4th years sat when she suddenly had a mouthful of wild, blonde hair.

"Oh, so sorry. I didn't see you there," squeaked the scattered Ravenclaw, taking a step back. Gemma simply smiled, shaking her head.

"No worries, Luna. You're quite all right. How was your summer?"

"Absolutely lovely. And yours? Have you heard from Harry? I saw what happened at the cup. How awful. I do hope they're ok," rambled the spunky girl as she idly twisted a lock of her hair.

"Yes, they're fine. Harry, Ron, and Hermione. Got a letter from them the other day," replied Gemma kindly.

"Wonderful, wonderful," mumbled Luna absentmindedly, her focus already somewhere else, "Well, feel free to sit in my compartment if you'd like. Plenty of room. I'll be back shortly."

Nodding, Gemma moved so that Luna could pass, grasping the sliding door of her compartment as she stepped completely into the corridor.

"Thanks, I'd be happy to."

With a smile, Luna nodded before proceeding the opposite way Gemma just came, galavanting further into the train. Stepping into the compartment fully, Gemma set to work tucking away her belongings. After a few minutes of struggling, she managed to get them stowed away properly, wiping the minimal sweat from her forward and sitting with a sigh on one of the benches. She rubbed the rough upholstery with her fingertips, savoring its familiar scratchiness.

The sound of the trains departing whistle was like music to her ears as she felt the rumble of the engine start up. She watched as the people on the platform became blurs, and the brick and stone of Kings Cross became fields of greenery and grass. The landscape passed in a nondescript haze, as the train chugged along northbound. If she wasn't so excited, Gemma may have been lulled to sleep by its repetitive hum.

About forty-five minutes into the journey, and Luna had yet to return. Gemma wasn't sure where she'd run off to, but was sure the spirited blonde was getting along just fine.

"...said it was with Potter's wand. As if he'd actually call the Death Eaters, the bloody coward," came the distinct, cold voice of the other "spirited" 4th year blonde from beyond Gemma's compartment door.

She leaned forward slightly, peering through the glass as two boys came into view. They were clearly discussing the happenings of the attack, and the rumor that the Dark Mark had been conjured with Harry's wand. Gemma made a mental note to ask the trio about that when she saw them.

One of the boys turned suddenly, as if he could feel her eyes on him. Embarrassed at being caught eavesdropping, Gemma shot back, pretending to stare out the window.

She heard the sound of the compartment door sliding open over her shoulder.

"See something you like, Bane?" came his taunt, dripping with snark. Gemma turned back to look at the boy standing above her in the doorframe, giving him a once over.

"No, not particularly Malfoy," she mused, scrunching her nose up in disdain.

"Sure about that? Seemed like you were pretty interested in our conversation," he mused, stretching a hand out above his head to steady himself as the train sped along.

Over his shoulder, Blaise Zabini was smirking in amusement. Both boys were already dressed in their Slytherin robes, emerald green and silver ties peeking out against white button-ups.

"You mean your little gossip session? I'm not interested in whatever rumors you lot are spreading," Gemma replied casually, folding her arms across her chest in faux indifference.

Whilst she may not believe the rumors, considering she got information directly from the sources themselves, it did rub her the wrong way to hear Draco Malfoy and his goons weaving webs about her friends.

"Ah, right," Draco nodded, "Forgot you're shagging Potter. My apologies, but your boyfriend's a wimp. Scared of a few Death Eaters, is he? Heard he barely lasted five seconds before he apparated away. " He dragged a lazy hand through his hair, a satisfied smirk playing at his lips at the sight of the Gryffindors reddening face.

"I'm not _shagging_ anyone," Gemma ground out, her ears hot, "And I'd like to see you stare one of those monsters in the face and live to tell the tale."

Draco simply laughed dryly, tossing a glance back at Blaise who chuckled as well.

"Trust me, Bane. I'd last longer than pathetic Potter," he stood up straighter, stepping backward and tugging on the door handle. "And I'm not talking about with the Death Eaters."

The glass slid shut, leaving Gemma stunned and gaping at his innuendo. In addition to effectively cutting off any chance she might have had at a witty retort.

In her first year at Hogwarts, Gemma had encountered Draco Malfoy on a number of occasions. His hatred for the Golden Trio had extended towards Gemma upon her befriending them, yet he found an odd pleasure in riling her up more so than the other three.

Something about the way she'd grind her teeth and pinch her eyes, he never let the opportunity pass to grind her gears. Their encounters usually resulted in her seeing red, and him slipping away in suppressed smugness.

Huffing in agitation, Gemma let her forehead meet the cold windowpane, letting its cool temperature soothe her burning face. She let out a puff of air through her delicate lips, closing her eyes to try and reel in her temper.

The sound of the door sliding open again had her sitting up instantly, reaching for her wand to hex Draco, despite the consequences that'd come along with it. To her relief, though, it was Luna who was sliding into the seat across from her.

"You alright there, Gemma?" Luna asked, tilting her head in concern.

"Yea," Gemma breathed, "Yea, I'm fine. Just, Draco being Draco. I don't know that I'll ever truly understand his thirst for trouble."

"Ah," sighed Luna, "We all have our reasons."

Gemma frowned in contemplation, confused by Luna's words. She was too exhausted to bother asking though, and resided to leaning her head against the wall again.

She wasn't going to let the Death Eaters or Draco ruin the fact that in a few short hours, she'd be back at Hogwarts. Back at the place she'd been dreaming of all summer. Back with Harry, Hermione, and Ron.

She breathed out, the creases along her temples relaxing as the train hurtled onward, toward home at last.


	2. Sabaism

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter contains direct quotes from 'Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire'. All credit to J.K. Rowling.

**_Chapter 2_ **  
**_SABAISM_ **

_sabaism_   
_(n.) the worship of stars_

**STARS** could make even the biggest person feel small. Not by their sight alone, of course. They're just small dots in the sky, watching over the night in silence.

No, stars make people feel small when they start to truly think about them. Giant balls of heat, gas, and energy, burning thousands of light-years away. Yet still able to be seen from Earth, guarding dreams and wishes as if it was the sole purpose of their existence.

The stars have the power to change the way things look, and as their glow dripped down upon the steep planes of the castle looming in the distance, the only way to describe the sight was to call it as it was. Magical.

Gemma found herself holding her breath as the Hogwarts Expressed pulled into the station, the sound of the breaks harsh through her foggy mind. She'd spent the remainder of the train ride reading a tattered old Muggle book she'd received from Hermione as a loan before summer.

She wanted to ensure she remembered all the points she wanted to discuss with her curly-haired companion when she saw her again. Luna had been quiet during the second half of their journey as well, staring out the window as if the scenery was a movie she couldn't take her eyes off of.

Both girls were fine with the comfortable silence they'd created in their compartment, and with no more interruptions from a certain obnoxious someone the hours had flown by rather quickly.

When the train finally halted, Gemma and Luna stood up, stretching their limbs and reaching for their luggage groggily. Gemma helped Luna tug one of her trunks off the small shelf, its seams almost bursting with whatever she'd stuffed inside.

"What in the world could you possibly have shoved in here, Luna?" Gemma inquired, huffing at the exertion.

Luna just smiled and thanked Gemma for the help, not giving her any clues as to what could be packed away in her large case. Shaking her head, Gemma grasped the handles of her own bags and filed her way off the train with the rest of the students.

Her feet had barely hit the stone platform when she heard Hagrid's voice over the rumbling chatter of students.

"Firs' years, follow me 'ter the boats. 'urry up now!"

Gemma and Luna started walking the opposite way of his voice, down towards the carriages that would take all the older students up to the school. Their black exteriors reflected the firelight of the lanterns of the Prefects as they were all lead down the slope. The two girls climbed up into one of the carts nearest to them, along with two other Hufflepuffs. Gemma wasn't sure of their names, but they both smiled politely at their carriage mates as the line began to move.

The turrets of the castle grew taller above them, and Gemma couldn't help herself from leaning further out the window to get a better look. Her chest fluttered with anxious butterflies at the sight of its steeples, the moonlight casting elegant shadows across its expansive walls. She only retracted herself back inside when the carriage hit a bump, causing her to knock her head against the roof. The others laughed at her lightly, causing her to flush and readjust the ribbon tied in her hair, subconsciously rubbing the bump that would surely form.

The piece of silk holding her hair back was now crimson, matching the crest on her robes that she'd changed into on the train. The Gryffindor crest was stitched proudly close to her heart, and she relaxed at the thought of joining her housemates at the table.

When they came to a halt, Gemma clambered onto the soft grass as quickly as possible, her smile uncontrollable. She threw a glance around, still trying to get a glimpse of her friends that seemed abnormally absent. She'd heard through the compartment door as people passed that the trio was supposedly on the train, but she'd yet to see them.

Ironically, the stark hair of the boy who'd caught her eavesdropping drew her eye, and she glared at his turned back in lingering annoyance.

Gemma followed everyone up the sloping lawn towards the large oak doors that led into the Entrance Hall. As soon as they'd passed the threshold, she let out a sigh of relief. She was home.

The older students all filed their way through the expansive foyer, the familiar orange glow of the candles and lamps lining the walls creating a cozy atmosphere. The pictures were waving at them from their frames, a few stray ghosts floating close to the extremely high rafters.

As they passed through into the Great Hall, Gemma gave a wave to Luna as she headed towards the Ravenclaw table.

The long tables stretched the length of the hall, and Gemma followed her fellow Gryffindors towards their designated spot. Golden plates and goblets were set across the polished surfaces, and Gemma's mouth watered at the thought of the feast that would soon be settling warm and delicious in her stomach.

She took her seat in the middle, making sure to leave one empty seat between her and the 5th year next to her so that Hermione had somewhere to sit when she arrived. Colin Creevy sat down diagonally from her, the last of the 3rd years to take his seat.

"Hiya Gemma," he greeted kindly.

"Hello Colin, how are you?" Gemma asked, leaning her elbows against the wood.

"Bit nervous, if I'm honest. Dennis is getting sorted tonight. Mum thinks he'll get Gryffindor, but I'm not so sure. She should see how he acts when she's not around, even a Slytherin would beg for mercy."

Gemma let out an amused laugh, shaking her head.

"I'm sure your brother will be fine."

Looking around, she observed the students, all catching up with one another. She was sure the first years would be entering soon, and yet there were three students still missing.

Just as she was about to give up hope, the pounding of footsteps echoed across the floor of the Great Hall as two wizards and a witch came hurrying down the aisle and collapsed into the remaining seats next to her.

Harry, Ron, and Hermione were all trying to catch their breaths, a slight gleam of sweat touching Ron's forehead. Gemma quirked her eyebrows in question at them, and Harry shook his head in response.

"Peeves — prank — almost — late, " He heaved out. Ron groaned, swiping at his dampened hair.

"This Sorting ceremony better go quickly," he grumbled, eyeing the goblet that was, unfortunately, lacking water.

As if by his request, the doors to the Great Hall opened once again, except this time there were a multitude of scared faces looking back at them as they were led past all the students and to the front. They were rounded up at the base of the stairs, and Minerva McGonagall brandished a stool and the infamous Sorting Hat before their eyes.

The nervous murmurs were hushed as Professor McGonagall began to explain to them how the ceremony would go.

"Why does Colin look so nervous," Hermione whispered in Gemma's ear, eyeing the boy across from them who seemed extremely tense.

"His little brother, Dennis, is a first-year," Gemma explained under her breath. Hermione nodded in acknowledgment, leaning back to sit up straight.

One by one, the first years sat on the stool and were sorted. After four Hufflepuffs, three Gryffindors, two Slytherin, and a singular Ravenclaw were welcomed into their new houses, it was finally Dennis Creevy's turn.

"There he goes," Colin mumbled, "I can't watch." He pinched his eyes closed.

"Oh, quit being dramatic," Ron shook his head.

Dennis sat promptly on the stool, and Professor McGonagall carefully placed the hat on his head. With little delay, the mass of leather was shouting out 'Gryffindor' and Colin was out of his seat, cheering in delight. His brother strolled over with a wide grin, taking his seat at the end of the table with the rest of his new housemates.

After the remainder of the first years were sorted appropriately, Professor McGonagall swept away the stool and hat and took her place at the table where her colleagues were already seated.

As went every year, Albus Dumbledore, headmaster of Hogwarts, rose from his seat and cleared his throat. It was typical of him to address the school at the start of the term, informing them of any changes, notices, or restrictions they should beware of in the coming year.

He cleared his throat, folding his hands across his stomach as his voice bellowed out across the hall.

"Students, staff, it is with the greatest pleasure that I welcome you back to Hogwarts this year." Applause rose up at his words, everyone excited to be back at school once again.

"Firstly, I would like to address, not that it shall surprise many of you, that we have a new Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher joining us."

Just as Dumbledore was speaking, a man entered through the doors at the end of the teacher's table. He was disheveled, and his clothes were ratty and dirty, as he limped his way up the steps. 

The hundreds of students watched on curiously as he shook Dumbledores hand firmly, his tongue flicking in a ticking manner. But it wasn't his choice of wardrobe, his limp, or even his strange tic, that caught everyone's attention.

It was perhaps his most distinguishable odd feature, of which was an eye that appeared to be strapped to his head. It kept moving, as if it had a mind of its own, taking in the mass of curious faces that looked back at him.

"Professor Alastor Moody," Dumbledore spoke, answering the unasked question that hung in the air, "We are happy to have you this year."

"That's Mad-Eye Moody," Ron whispered in a hushed tone. Gemma and her peers exchanged weary glances. No one's nickname including the word 'mad' could be good.

Moody nodded, giving a gruff grumble of acknowledgment to Dumbledores words, before stumbling over to his seat at the table. Turning back to face the students, Dumbledore raised his hands to hush the murmur that had swept the sea of pupils.

"And now, it is time that I address the rumors that have been floating around. It is true, the Quidditch season will no longer be taking place," he said. This caused a flourish of cries to erupt across the hall, bouncing off the walls in surprise.

Hermione, Gemma, and Ron all turned to look at Harry whose eyes were wide with unknowing shock.

"But, not to worry. I promise you will not be bored. It is my honor to announce, that with the approval of the Ministry of Magic, this year Hogwarts will be hosting the Triwizard Tournament."

Gasps swept the hall as people's eyes lit up in both confusion and excitement at the word 'tournament'. The rumors that had been making their way along the train had been nowhere near as enticing.

"The Triwizard Tournament was first established some seven hundred years ago as a friendly competition between the three largest European schools of wizardry: Hogwarts, Beauxbatons, and Durmstrang," continued Dumbledore, talking over the chatter, "A champion was selected to represent each school, and the three champions competed in three magical tasks. The schools took it in turns to host the tournament once every five years, and it was generally agreed to be a most excellent way of establishing ties between young witches and wizards of different nationalities — until, that is, the death toll mounted so high that the tournament was discontinued."

"Who would ever willingly participate in something like that?" Hermione questioned, her nose scrunching in disdain.

Gemma shrugged, her eyes watching Dumbledore.

"We have worked with the Ministry to establish some new rules, to ensure the safety of all of the participants. Included in this is the restriction that no witch or wizard under the age of 17 is permitted to enter," he gave a pointed look in the direction of the Gryffindor table, as Fred and George Weasley nudged each other, mischievous grins on their faces.

"The champions will be chosen by an impartial selector: The Goblet of Fire."

With a sweeping gesture, a large Goblet appeared adjacent to Dumbledore, standing tall before the students. Its grey, pebbled surface seemed ancient, clearly a relic as suggested by the age of the tournament.

Flames licked their way past its lips, stretching toward the never-ending ceiling in twisting spires.

"Those who meet the age requirement may write the name on a piece of paper the night before the selection of champions, and place it into the Goblet to enter the drawing. After the selection, the champions will compete in their tasks throughout the year, and the winner will receive not only a reward of one-thousand Galleons,"

Ron's jaw almost hit the table at the mention of the prize money, and Harry had to physically shut his mouth with his hand so he wouldn't catch flies.

"But will also win the Triwizard Cup."

Just as the Goblet of Fire had appeared, the Cup followed suit, its bronzed fixtures glimmering in the light of the Great Hall. The handles curved over the sides, shaped like dragons with their mouths agape.

It was large and stunning, the growing commotion barely contained as students stood from their seats, straining to get a better look.

Malfoy nudged one of his goons, Goyle, and muttered something to him that Gemma guessed was along the lines of betting on a Slytherin winning.

"The tournament will commence after the arrival of our foreign guests, on the 31st of October. We shall be preparing in the coming weeks, and ask that you all behave with respect as you will be sharing your space with them throughout the year," Dumbledore added, sweeping a somewhat stern gaze across the room.

Lifting his chin, he allowed his expression to melt into a friendly smile, "Now, I think I've kept you all waiting long enough. Let the start of term feast, begin."

With a clap of his hands, the tables filled themselves with food. The goblets were brimming, and the once empty trays were toppling over with roast meats, vegetables, and pastries.

Ron had gulped down half of his goblet before Gemma could even reach for the large bowl of potatoes. They all hungrily filled their plates, catching up over mouthfuls.

"Sorry I didn't write back after your last letter, Gemma," Hermione spoke after swallowing a bite of Shepard's pie, "I figured we'd be seeing you before you'd receive the response anyway."

Gemma shook her head, waving it off.

"No worries. I'm just glad to see you three alive, albeit you had me a bit worried coming in late and all," she forked a piece of meat into her mouth,

"What exactly happened at the World Cup? I've only been hearing rumors."

 _"_ Someone stole my wand and cast the Dark Mark, if that's what you're wondering. It wasn't me," said Harry pointedly, clearly annoyed with the gossip.

"I assumed as much," Gemma answered, "But still, why did the Death Eaters attack the campsite anyway?"

"They were after Muggles, at least that's what my father said," Ron replied, bits of beans spilling down his chin. Hermione rolled her eyes at his table manners, holding out an intricately embroidered napkin suggestively as she spoke,

"The Death Eaters are followers of You-Know-Who. They hate anyone with even an ounce of non-magical blood in them."

"Sounds like a certain someone," mumbled Gemma, glancing at the Slytherin table over Harry's shoulder.

"You all should've let me land that punch on Malfoy at the campsite. He'd have had to show up to school with his nose all black and blue still," Ron said after finally swallowing.

"Malfoy was there?" Gemma asked confused, unaware that the rude blonde had been in attendance as well.

"Yea," sighed Hermione, looking down at her plate uncomfortably, "We were in the same box with his family."

"He told us to protect Hermione because they were after Muggles, the twat," Ron's fists clenched tighter around his knife, as if he wanted to stand up and throw it directly at Malfoy's head.

That would certainly disrupt the feast.

"It was just Malfoy being Malfoy," Hermione brushed off, though the look in her eyes suggested it hurt her more than she was letting on.

"Exactly," agreed Gemma, "Meaning every word that comes out of his mouth is inherently untruthful and rude. Don't listen to him, Hermione."

The Gryffindors continued their meal, moving onto dessert, and placing down their utensils only when they thought their stomachs might burst.

The rest of their light conversation consisted of Hermione voicing her concern for the house-elves, Neville recounting a summertime mishap at his grandmothers, and Colin insisting that if Harry were able to enter the tournament he would surely win.

"I mean, come on," Colin exclaimed for the umpteenth time, "You're the Boy Who Lived. You defeated You-Know-Who as a baby. A few measly magical tasks would be a piece of cake."

"I appreciate the enthusiasm, Colin,' Harry grumbled, "But in case you've forgotten, I'm not of age."

"I know, but if you were-" the energetic boy continued on, waving his arms wildly as if trying to further his point via demonstration of exactly how Harry would conquer the tasks. Gemma laughed lightly, rolling her eyes.

She'd missed this. Sitting at dinner under the enchanted ceiling, chatting with her friends without a care in the world. Sure, the riot at the World Cup was something to be worried about, but within the walls of Hogwarts, it felt safe. Like no one could burst her small bubble of happiness now that she was home again.

At the conclusion of the feast, the rows of students all stood, and began filing out of the Great Hall behind the Prefects. Gemma, Hermione, Harry, and Ron all stuck together as they exited, clambering up the expanse of marble steps.

As they made their way towards the seventh floor where the entrance to Gryffindor Tower was located, they were nearly run over by the youngest Weasley as she caught up to them.

"Gemma!" she exclaimed with a smile, her red hair wildly framing her face.

"Hello, Ginny," Gemma grinned back. Ron shook his head at his sister's abrupt entrance, muttering to himself.

"What do you want?" He voiced, narrowing his eyes.

"Oh, bugger off, Ron," Ginny spoke, making a face at Ron, "I just wanted to say hi to Gemma seeing as I haven't seen her all summer. I didn't get to talk to her at dinner, unlike you lot."

Gemma looped her arm through Ginny's, not having a problem with the energetic girl.

"It's quite alright, Ginny. I've missed you as well. Tell me, how've you been?"

The Gryffindors continued to climb the steps and through the spacious halls, chattering amongst themselves until they finally arrived at the portait that served as the entrance to the common room.

After receiving the new password for the year, they followed inside, entering into the spacious lounge area.

There was a roaring fire in the fireplace, and the room seemed to swell with comfort. The red and gold upholstery and dark stained furniture was familiar and tempting. The last of the first years filed in and were instructed on where their dormitories were, leaving only the older students still dwelling about around the couches.

"Funny," came a voice from over by the mantle, "Dumbledore really thinks he can keep us from entering the tournament."

Fred Weasley was grinning, his twin brother standing on the coffee table next to him.

"Oh, please," Ron commented, "Like you two could bypass a spell cast by Dumbledore."

The students present all murmured agreeably.

"You underestimate us, little brother," said George, wagging his finger condescendingly.

"Bloody idiots," Hermione breathed under her breath, causing Gemma and Ginny to giggle, "I'm going to bed before they infect me with their stupidity. You coming, Gemma?"

Gemma nodded, a hand covering her mouth as she coughed to hide her laughter. The two girls said goodbye to Ginny as they split off towards the 4th year girls dormitory.

Pushing inside the circular room, Gemma felt her shoulders sag in exhaustion at the sight of her four-poster bed. Her bags had been brought up, her belongings neatly tucked away, her spare uniform laid out on the chair beside her set of drawers.

Lady was perched in her cage atop the trunk at the foot of her bed, and Gemma stuck her finger through the bars to give her a slight nudge in greeting. Lady ruffled her feathers in welcome.

Gemma and Hermione, along with Parvati Patil and Lavender Brown, all tiredly dressed for bed, the busyness of the day seemingly catching up to all of them.

Gemma pulled back the thick covers of her bed, snuggling deeply underneath them as she inhaled their fresh scent. The shuffle of her roommates, light chatter still floating up from downstairs, and the echo of the wind outside the window created a soothing lullaby.

And as she closed her eyes, the images of fiery goblets and golden cups danced behind her eyelids.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> DISCLAIMER: 
> 
> I do not own any of the original Harry Potter characters, world, or plot. The stories and their livelihood belong to J.K. Rowling. Any characters, world-building, or plotlines that diverge from the original books alternatively are mine.
> 
> This story is also posted on Wattpad under the same username 'lacedpink'. Both of these accounts are owned by me. Any other postings are not authorized unless explicitly stated.


	3. Alharaca

**_Chapter 3_ **   
**ALHARACA**

_alharaca_   
_(n.) an extraordinary or violent emotional reaction to a small issue_

**CHILLING** howls echoed against the stone-built shops as they wound their way through the twists and bends of Diagon Alley. The clouds were darkening quickly with the impending nightfall, their stormy atmosphere only speeding up the process.

The rain was beating down steadily, as it had been for many weeks. The weather felt appropriate, though, for the mood in the Wizarding World could only be described as desperately fearful as of late.

Witches and Wizards alike threw paranoid glances over their shoulders as they hurried from doorway to doorway, hands tightly clutching umbrellas as if they were weapons and not just protection from the falling droplets.

A golden-haired witch was darting across the slippery cobblestones, very aware of her tardiness as she hurried along. Stepping carefully so as not to break an ankle, she hopped her way down the decently deserted street, letting out a relieved sigh at the sight of the familiar cauldron shaped sign up ahead.

Lowering her umbrella as she stepped under the stone overhang, the young girl's cold hand pushed at the heavy door that served as the entrance to the Leaky Cauldron.

Immediately overcome with a wave of warm and blissfully dry air, she flexed her stiff fingers as her eyes searched the eerily vacant tavern.

The long tables that took up the expansive space sat only a few random hunched figures, all hunkered over bowls of steaming stew as they tiredly spooned it into their mouths. The barkeep lazily ran a damp cloth over the countertops, his head not even lifting at the newcomer.

It was unfortunate, the sadness that clung to the beams along the ceiling was suffocating. The tension was palatable, and the witch shivered uncomfortably.

Breaking up the dreary grey monotony of the room was the stark auburn strands of the very person the witch was supposed to be meeting. She maneuvered her way across the dining room, careful not to disturb any of the fellow patrons with her sopping and heavy cloaks as she did so.

When she finally reached the round table tucked in the corner, the girl that was already seated glanced up at her, green eyes crinkling in greeting.

"A bit damp, there?" she asked, gently setting down the newspaper she'd be reading moments before. The front page was splattered in bold headlines, all surely warning readers to stay inside and minimize their time spent alone in public.

Meetings with old friends in uncrowded pubs was certainly not the wisest decision, but neither witch had much of a choice at this rate. Their rendezvous was more so a necessity than a frivolous outing, and the urgency was evident in the hurried way that Jocelyn sat down across from her in the rickety chair.

"Even Mother Nature is fearful these days," Jocelyn muttered, wringing out her cloak so that it created a small puddle on the floor. She hung it on the back of her chair, angling it so it gathered as much heat from the steadily burning fireplace as possible.

"Now, let's get down to business."

"Not even a how are you? Now, where have your manners gone, Jo?" the fiery twenty-year-old teased her friend, taking a sip from her lukewarm mug of butterbeer.

Her patchwork sweater drowned her small frame, wild locks of hair stuck to its woolly strands. In the midst of a war, she seemed uncharacteristically at peace here, tucked away in the dim evening lamplight.

She nudged the extra glass of caramel-flavored foam towards Jocelyn, who narrowed her eyes but willingly took it anyway.

"We hardly have time for manners at the moment. I asked you here because I'm worried about your husband, and you as well," Jocelyn spoke tersely, clearly not in the mood for even the lightest of jokes.

"The two of you have been running about, seeking out danger since we graduated from Hogwarts, and I've held my tongue. But this plan of yours, this is another level of idiocy I've yet to see."

"Relax," the girl said, reaching out a delicate hand towards Jocelyn, whose own rest tensed on the tabletop, "We have everything under control. Don't you trust us?"

Jocelyn sighed in frustration, bringing the warm drink to her lips pensively. She didn't know how to make her friend understand. Trust meant nothing where hate was involved. It could make even the most honest people do irrational things.

"It's not about trust. It's about strength and power, knowledge and numbers. I mean do you genuinely believe the lot of you are a match for You-Know-Who?"

Two emeralds gleamed back at her, their gaze trying to soothe her panicked thoughts. Jocelyn had always wanted a sister, and letting the only person who'd ever felt close to one go willingly galavanting into danger was extremely counterintuitive.

"This silly Order of the Peacock business is a sure way to the grave, and I can't just stand by and watch any of you walk into the crossfire of this war willingly."

"Order of the Phoenix," the girl corrected, "And I'm sorry, Jocelyn. I'm not asking you to join us, or even approve of what we're doing. I just ask that you don't say anything about what you know." 

Jocelyn's fingers knotted themselves nervously together, the butterbeer in her stomach aiding in the growing nausea she felt. Let her friends, her housemates, her family, go chasing after the cruelest and heartless batch of wizards to date?

But deep in her heart, she knew no matter what she said that night, the Order would not cease. It was something she'd admired about them in school, their perseverance. The extra hour of studying, the added extracurricular, the extended Quidditch practice. Always pushing, always fighting a little harder than everyone else.

She only wished she possessed the same courage that seemed to run through all of their veins. 

"Just, take care of them, please," she murmured, withdrawing her hands into her lap and as she sat back. The ridged rungs of the chair scratched at her spine, a heavy silence settling over the two witches. It was as if a curse had been cast, abrupt and final.

This was it.

Deciding there was nothing else to be said on the matter, Jocelyn suspected it was probably time to take her leave. It was nearing half-past eight, and the later it became the more careful she'd have to be on her journey home.

As she stood and pulled on her still soggy cloak, she sent a meaningful look back at the table, and the uncommonly kind soul she called a friend.

Jocelyn lowered her voice, a final warning leaving her lips, raw with worry.

"James has always liked to get into trouble Lily, but this time it won't be house points he loses. It will be his life."

And with that, Jocelyn left Lily Potter in the Leaky Cauldron, the final words they would ever exchange echoing hauntingly in the empty air.

__

Gemma's heart lurched as she shot straight up in bed, her hand gripping her nightgown that was damp with sweat. Her breath was ragged, mind muddled as her eyes darted around the small dormitory.

The collar of her clothes felt like it was strangling her, tight and restricting around her throat. She cast a glance over at her sleeping friends, trying to calm herself as she steadied her inhales. Gemma shut her eyes, trying to focus on the feeling of her bed beneath her.

She could still feel the dampness of her mother's cloak on her shoulders, as if it had been her meeting a stranger in the Leaky Cauldron on a cold autumn night and not Jocelyn.

Gemma had frequent vivid dreams. They usually involved her and her friends going on adventures or goofing off in the common room. Sometimes, she was in another world entirely, where magic didn't exist and she was just an ordinary Muggle.

But she'd never dreamt about her mother before, and certainly not about the auburn-haired stranger her mother had seemed rather concerned with. She shook her head, palming her nose with her hands in an attempt to rid the remnant smell of rain from her nostrils.

The sun was still tucked beneath the horizon, not showing any signs of making its presence known soon. Gemma considered trying to roll back over and catch another few hours of hopefully dreamless sleep, but the thought of whispered worries and the deserted pub had her climbing clumsily out from under her covers.

Has her bare feet hit the cold, wooden floor, the light noise causing Hermione to stir slightly in her sleep, turning over lazily. Gemma paused, not wanting to wake her so early on their first day of classes.

When she was sure Hermione was still fast asleep, Gemma tiptoed her way over to the trunk at the end of her bed, lifting the lid delicately. She rummaged around as quietly as she could, pulling out a pair of black woolen pants and a crimson sweater with the Gryffindor crest emblazoned across its front.

After tugging on the warmer attire, she crept silently toward the door, descending the stairs down into the vacant common room.

The fire was glowing, its dying embers tossing pitiful light across the hearth. Its subtle warmth was enough to chase away some of the fleeting droplets from her dream, and she found herself sinking into one of the plush armchairs close to it. Gemma tugged the sleeves of her sweater further over her hands, resting her head back against the velvety upholstery. She could feel her eyes growing heavier again, the entrancing flames lulling her back into darkness.

When Gemma woke again, it was to the feeling of someone violently shaking her shoulder. She peeled her eyes open tiredly, covering her mouth as she let out a small yawn.

Standing before her were Hermione, Ron and Harry, all fully dressed in their uniforms and robes.

"Gemma, what are you doing down here?" Hermione asked, tugging on Gemma's sleeve anxiously, "We got our schedules, Herbology starts in ten minutes! You're going to be late!"

Gemma instantly sprang up from her seat, all tiredness vanishing from her features.

"Ten minutes? Dammit!" She clumsily scrambled out of the chair, tripping over her own legs and nearly catching her temple on the sharp corner of the side table, "I must've fallen back to sleep."

Brushing past her friends, she hurriedly sprinted back up the winding spiral stairs towards her room.

"Just go on without me, I'll meet you there."

Throwing her belongings around, she groaned in frustration as she tried to piece together all of the components of her uniform. She had one leg have in her stockings and the other bare and flailing as she struggled to get them on.

As if Gemma's luck couldn't get any worse, just as the clock told her she was most certainly late, she felt the unfortunately familiar sensation of a cold breeze up the back of her right thigh.

She'd caught her tights on her trunk.

Grumbling to herself in frustration, she managed to slip on her black loafers and double-check that her robes covered the gaping hole beneath her hemline before snatching her striped tie from around the bedpost and making a dash out the door.

She practically heaved herself through the portrait hole, the Fat Lady letting out a slight shriek in surprise at the force.

Gemma set off sprinting down the seventh-floor corridor, taking the stairs two, sometimes three at a time as she ran as quickly as she could through the castle. The halls were empty, besides the few students who didn't have class and some stray professors, thankfully leaving her a somewhat clear path to her destination.

The greenhouses were located below the two main Bell Towers of the castle, their loud chimes only reiterating Gemma's tardiness as she tore across the front lawns. Trying not to slip on the morning dew, she thundered down the slopes as efficiently as she could.

Grasping the handles of the large, glass-paned structure, she heaved the heavy doors open. Thirty or so faces instantly swiveled in her direction, including the disappointed gaze of Professor Sprout who was shaking her head indignantly at the flustered girl.

Gemma opened and closed her mouth, not quite sure what to say for herself. She wiped at the beads of sweat that had gathered at her hairline self consciously.

"Well, don't just stand there Miss Bane. Take up a spot, please," Professor Sprout tutted, her attention back on the rest of the class as she adjusted her oversized leather gardening gloves.

Gemma, head ducked in embarrassment, darted down the rows between plants, coming to stop alongside Ron who was trying to hide his laughter.

Hermione elbowed Ron in the side, causing him to throw her an annoyed glare.

Two of the Hufflepuffs across from her were sniggering as well, and to her disdain, Gemma looked down to see her tie was completely undone around her neck. She adjusted it shamefully, trying to fix what she could of her disheveled appearance with red hot cheeks.

Thankfully, Professor Sprout decided to begin the lesson, giving her something else to focus on.

"Welcome back, all of you, to Herbology. Today, we will be starting the term off by collecting the pus of bubotubers."

Professor Sprout went on to explain exactly how the students were to achieve this, demonstrating for the class as she did so. When she'd successfully squeezed a few drops of the disgusting looking liquid into a small vial, using extremely complicated looking tools, she smiled and held it up high so everyone could see.

"And there you have it, the perfect cure to even the most stubborn of spots," she proclaimed, "Now, go on. It's your turn."

Everyone's attention turned to the multitude of strange devices in front of them on the workbench, and the odd-looking plants that lie next to them. 

"Welp, here goes," muttered Ron.

Picking up the weird stalk, Gemma eyed it warily. All watching each other, to see who would do it correctly first, the class slowly but surely all began to extract the slippery substance from the bubotubers.

"This seems like quite a lot of effort for an acne cure," Gemma voiced, her friends nodding in agreement.

"At least it's better than the mandrakes," offered Harry, to which they all shuddered. Yes, certainly collecting pus was far better than hearing the shrill shrieks of the baby mandrakes.

After an hour of squelching, the fourth years filed out of the greenhouse, hands coated in sticky slime.

"Yuck," Ron groaned, attempting to wipe his hands on his pants.

"Gross, Ron," Hermione cringed, her face crinkling in obvious disgust. Gemma held her hands out in front of her, trying not to get any of the foul-smelling stuff on her robes.

"Honestly, you'd think they'd have found an easier way to extract it," she said. Her friends all nodded in agreement as they trudge on, headed in the direction of Hagrid's for their second class of the day, Care of Magical Creatures.

Their next few hours were spent learning about shapeless, Blast-Ended Skrewts, of which it seemed Hagrid didn't even have much knowledge. When asked what they did, he just kind of shrugged and rambled on about stinging and burning, and the little buggers being misunderstood.

Harry had kept on asking where their mouths were, and Hermione had taken to trying to figure out what they liked to eat, much to Harry's frustration.

When they'd finally been released from prodding at the useless things, the afternoon sun was beating down brightly on the grounds. Gemma and the others had to shield their eyes with their hands in order to see each other properly.

"Right, well, we're headed up to Divination," Ron said, Harry letting out a long, exaggerated groan in response. Harry absolutely dreaded Divination. Professor Trelawney was always telling him he was going to die.

It really put a damper on his day.

Gemma and Hermione waved at the two boys as Ron dragged Harry by the hood of his robe back up towards the towering oak doors. Once they'd disappeared from sight, Hermione turned to Gemma, eyebrows raised.

"Want to head up to the library to get a head start on some homework?" she asked, clutching her textbooks across her chest. Gemma smiled, nodding her head.

"Yea, sure."

The girls made their way back up the hill, following the path that Ron and Harry had just taken into the Entrance Hall and down the hallway towards the library. When they entered, the comforting smell of aging paper met their noses, and Hermione sighed in satisfaction. Gemma was convinced that her curly-haired friend would probably never leave if given the opportunity.

They wound their way around empty tables, Hermione throwing a courteous smile to Madam Pince, who's permanent gear didn't even falter.

When they'd finally found a table they deemed suitable tucked away near a window, they plopped down onto the stiff wooden seats. Gemma pulled out a fresh roll of parchment, quill, and ink bottle, laying them out on the flat surface.

Hermione did the same, dipping the tip of the feather into the jet-black well and beginning on the assignment they'd been given that morning.

As they worked in silence, Gemma kept finding herself having to blink in order to keep her eyes focused on the page. Her early rising and abrupt awakening was starting to catch up with her, and her mind couldn't help but keep wandering back to the dreary alley and her young mother's face.

"Um, Hermione," Gemma said pensively, unsure how exactly to bring up her lingering dream. Hermione looked up, pausing her writing.

"Yes?" she asked expectedly, smiling at her friend.

"Is-" Gemma paused, nervous, "Is it possible to dream about things that have actually happened. Not just made up scenarios?"

Hermione tilted her head thoughtfully, her quill brushing her lips.

"You mean, like, see into the past?"

"Yes, exactly," Gemma answered. After a moment, Hermione shook her head.

"Well, I've certainly don't think I've heard of such a thing being possible. I'm quite sure the only way to see something that's happened in the past is by way of a charm. Like with Tom Riddle's diary and the Chamber."

Gemma bit her lip, casting her gaze down at the table again.

"Does this have anything to do with why you were sleeping in the common room?" Hermione asked observantly, peering at Gemma with concern.

Gemma nodded.

"I had a dream, about my mother. And-" she paused, unsure if she should disclose any more. Hermione was the last person who would judge her, but Gemma felt silly, knowing for sure it was most certainly just a dream. "You know what, it doesn't matter. It was just a bit intense, is all."

Hermione regarded her suspiciously, but eventually relaxed her gaze and sank back into her chair.

"I wouldn't worry about it Gemma," she said, "With the attack at the World Cup, and the Death Eaters, even the bravest witch would have nightmares these days."

Gemma tilted her lips slightly, humming in subtle agreement. Hermione was right. It was enough to scare anyone with the right mind for their wellbeing.

Before anymore questioning could be done, a mass of flying red hair sidled up to the table. Ginny grinned wide in greeting.

"Hello you two, how's your first day of classes been?" She asked cheerfully, breaking up the serious mood that had settled over them.

"Fine, and yours Ginny?" Gemma asked, thankful for a subject change.

"It's been alright. Just came from Potions," Ginny scrunched her nose at the mention of the dreaded class. Only the Slytherins found Potions enjoyable, what with their house head Professor Snape being the teacher, who also tended to have a heavy hand of favoritism.

"Which, incidentally is why I'm here," she continued, "Hermione, you mentioned you still had one of the textbooks from last year I could have?"

"Oh, yes of course!" Hermione exclaimed, "It's just up in my room. We can go grab it now, if you'd like?"

"That would be perfect, we already have an essay due next week," Ginny stated, rolling her eyes.

"You don't mind me leaving, do you, Gemma? I can stay if you want," checked Hermione, wanting to make sure her friend wasn't feeling left out, "Or you can come along if you'd like?"

Gemma shook her head, waving them off.

"No, no! Go on. I want to try to finish this assignment before dinner. I'll see you guys there."

The Gryffindor girls smiled at her, Hermione tidily packing up her supplies into her worn bag.

"See you later, Gemma," Ginny called out as they maneuvered their way back towards the library entrance.

Gemma turned back to her textbook and determinedly tried to refocus back on the lines of ink in front of her. Key word being tried.

By the time Gemma looked up from her piece of parchment again, the sun was almost sunken entirely below the horizon, only a small sliver still visible. She stretched her arms over her head, moving her stiff muscles for the first time in a few hours.

She reckoned dinner was almost over, based on the lack of daylight making its way into the nearly deserted library. Gathering her belongings, Gemma stood from her table, her joints cracking with the effort.

She made her way out of the library, not bothering to say goodbye to Madam Pince, and headed down the corridor towards the stairs. Her light footsteps echoed in the barren halls, the heels of her shoes clicking against the stone.

When she reached the staircase, she hesitated, unsure if she should just head straight up to bed and attempt to catch up on her lack of sleep or try and see if there were any leftovers still to spare down at dinner.

The grumbling in her stomach made the decision for her, and she found herself heading down the marble towards the Great Hall.

She'd barely turned the corner to descend towards its entrance when she heard the commotion.

"Look here," came that distinctly cold and arrogant voice, "Says Arthur Weasley is a right git. Not surprising, I mean, the whole lot is a disgrace. Surprised he's lasted as long as he has at the Ministry. If I was Fudge, I'd have given him the boot ages ago."

Gemma's brows pinched angrily at the sound of Malfoy's gloating tone. At the bottom of the stairs, he stood with Goyle and Blaise, a copy of the Daily Prophet held in his hands.

Ron and Harry were standing a few feet away, looks of pure and unadulterated hatred coating both of their features.

"Shut up, Malfoy," Ron spit, taking a step forward. Gemma picked up her pace, jogging down to her friend's sides.

Malfoy just laughed, nudging his buddies jokingly.

"What're you going to do about it, Weasley? Call your mummy? Have her come sit on me?"

Harry had to hold Ron back as he lunged, wand aimed at Draco's sneering face.

"Don't you dare talk about my mother, you pale, snake-worshiping arse!"

Gemma stepped up in front of Ron, blocking his view of Malfoy as the blonde boy just continued to chuckle.

"Why don't you just bugger off, Malfoy?" Gemma said, glaring at him.

"See I knew you were sleeping around with Potter, but I didn't realize you were going at it with Weasley too, Bane," Draco taunted, stepping closer as if to challenge her, "Classy."

Gemma's temper flared, anger boiling in the pit of her stomach. She stared aggravated back at his emotionless grey eyes.

"Don't you have anything better to do with your time?" she asked haughtily, "I mean honestly, at the rate you go out of your way to bother us, some may say that's a bit obsessive, don't you think?"

Gemma turned away from him, motioning with her head to Harry and Ron. She was sure that if someone could be absolutely and undeniably mean to the bone, it was him. Draco Malfoy wasn't worth anyone's time or energy.

The three of them started to retreat, beginning to climb back up the stairs away from the foul-mouthed Slytherin.

Malfoy's eyes flashed with cruelness, not ready to be done picking on his favorite punching bags. 

"No, no I get it, Bane. You and Weasley aren't a good match. You and Potter are a much better pairing you know," he mused, a sadistic grin licking the corners of his lips as he shouted at her back, "What with the dead fathers and all."

Before she even knew what she was doing, Gemma spun on her heel, her wand aimed straight at Malfoy's face. One minute, he was standing there laughing and the next, he was gone.

And in his place was a small, white, beady-eyed ferret.

The hex had flown from her wand instinctually at the insult. How _dare_ he bring her deceased father into this. The crowd that had gathered around gasped, some letting out laughs as ferret-Draco scrambled around in a panic.

Harry and Ron were grinning, and even Gemma had to hold in a choked laugh as the rodent scampered its way up Goyles leg, causing the large boy to cry in fright.

Unsurprisingly, the noise had caught the attention of not only students, and a hush fell over the foyer as Professor Moody limped his way into the center of the circle. Gemma's face dropped as she sheepishly tucked her wand back into her robes. She opened her mouth, about to defend herself, but closed it again in angst, unsure what to say.

But instead of yelling at her as she expected, a slow smirk started to spread across Moody's face as he watched Goyle still struggling to get the ferret out from under his clothes.

"Very good. Miss Bane, isn't it?"

Gemma nodded timidly, a confused yet slightly relieved look on her face.

"Very good, indeed."

His praise for her transfiguration was cut short by another shrill shout coming from the entrance to the Great Hall. Professor McGonagall herself was making her way through the mass of students, shoving towards where they all stood.

"What is going on here?" she exclaimed, eyes catching on Goyle's writhing figure, "Is- is that a student?"

She swept her way over quickly, wand outstretched as she aimed it at the flash of white that had finally managed to free itself from the tangles of fabric.

Draco reappeared, huddled in a small ball on the floor, trembling. As soon as he realized he was once again human, he scrambled to his feet, glaring daggers up at Gemma who stood wide-eyed watching.

Professor McGonagall followed his gaze, eyes locking on Gemma.

"He- he was insulting Ron, and then he-" Gemma tried weakly, her voice fading at the look Professor McGonagall was giving her.

"I don't know what on Earth made you think that hexing a fellow student was the answer to an argument, but I can assure you, Miss Bane, that it is most certainly not the right one." McGonagall then turned her sharp stinging voice towards Professor Moody, "And you, Professor, should know not to be encouraging such behavior," the witch was practically shaking with anger.

She cast a furious glance over the spectators still watching.

"All of you. Back to your dormitories."

She tucked away her wand, locking eyes with Gemma and Draco.

"As for the two of you, I will see you in my office. Now."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> DISCLAIMER: 
> 
> I do not own any of the original Harry Potter characters, world, or plot. The stories and their livelihood belong to J.K. Rowling. Any characters, world-building, or plotlines that diverge from the original books alternatively are mine.
> 
> This story is also posted on Wattpad under the same username 'lacedpink'. Both of these accounts are owned by me. Any other postings are not authorized unless explicitly stated.


	4. Petifoggery

**_Chapter 4_ **  
**PETTIFOGGERY**

_pettifoggery_  
_(_ _n.) a trivial quarrel_

**GEMMA'S** eyes followed the patterns of swirling grey in the stone floor as she made her way down the hall behind Professor McGonagall towards the Defense Against the Dark Arts tower. The students were scattered, as they all headed in different directions back to their dormitories as instructed.

Gemma cast a quick wide-eyed glance at Harry and Ron over her shoulder, both of them giving her an over-enthusiastic thumbs up. Ron mouthed an exaggerated 'good luck', as if that would somehow lessen the blow of the lecture she was undoubtedly on her way to receive.

Harry nudged Ron lightly, and the pair turned to head back up the stairs before another professor or even Filch could find them still standing there.

Turning back around, the mess of blonde hair in Gemma's peripheral was walking alongside her. She didn't even want to look at him, her stomach still rolling with pent up anger that the argument had failed to release.

The hex had only managed to relieve a fraction of the tension Malfoy's insults had wound up, and Gemma had to clench her robes with her fists to prevent one of them from meeting his annoyingly pristine, porcelain cheek. Damn the twat and his perfect complexion. As if he needed any more reasons to believe he was better than everyone else.

The least the universe could've done was make him ugly.

Unfortunately, the contents of a book don't always match its outside appearance, and Gemma knew Draco was one revoltingly vile story on the inside.

Pity the pretty cover was going to waste.

As the three of them made their way through the castle, Gemma was relieved to find most of the hallways deserted. It was bad enough there had been an audience for their little quarrel, let alone for the walk of shame they were taking towards McGonagall's office. The only movement came from the flickering of the lantern light against the dark, shadowy ceiling, and the few ghosts making the occasional appearance as they passed between walls.

When they arrived at the door, Professor McGonagall whispered a password that neither Gemma nor Draco could hear, and pushed inside.

The small room was cozy, with a cold fireplace, massive desk, and discrete door that assumably led to their professor's sleeping chambers. The towering windows on either side of the chimney gave way to a spectacular view of the training grounds, which was swallowed by the inky blackness of the evening.

The diamond-shaped panes reflected their faces back at them, Gemma's a mask of agitation, Draco's twisted in spite. Professor McGonagall rounded her desk, aiming her wand nonchalantly at the dry wood behind her with a swift _I_ _ncendio._ Whilst she seemed to be in less of a fluster than when she had found them in the Entrance Hall, the obvious displeasure for their actions was still clear on her face.

She turned to face the two teenagers, peering down over the glasses balanced on the bridge of her slender nose.

"Take a seat," she spoke shortly, clasping one wrist with the opposite hand, still holding her wand.

Draco and Gemma stepped around the front of the two comfortable-looking chairs, each slowly descending into a bouncy seat. Neither spared the other a glance, both staring at the intricate carvings on the desks to occupy their nervous eyes.

The only sound echoing in the enclosed office was their shallow breaths and the occasional pop of the fire. Breaking the silence, Professor McGonagall cleared her throat.

"I don't even know where to begin with you two," she said, her voice taut, straining with barely contained outrage, "For a start, Mr. Malfoy, you know we do not tolerate bullying or any sort of foul, hateful speech here at Hogwarts. You are here to learn, not pick fights and stir up trouble. And you are especially not here to be a disrespectful git."

Gemma had to stifle the choked chuckle that threatened to escape her lips. Her expression quickly resolved back to shame as Professor McGonagall turned to her, cheeks reddening even more.

"As for you, Miss Bane, whilst sticking up for your friends is indeed admirable, doing so with the use of magic is not. Especially when it includes turning Mr. Malfoy here into a- a-" she paused, unable to even comprehend what the white ball of fur trapped in his friend's pant leg had been.

"A ferret," Gemma offered quietly, eyes still cast downward.

Professor McGonagall narrowed her gaze even more at her words.

"Indeed, a _ferret_. Regardless of what Mr. Malfoy said, it is completely and utterly unacceptable to hex a fellow student," she frowned, "For that, I must take one-hundred and fifteen points from Gryffindor."

Gemma flinched as the number left Professor McGonagall's pursed mouth, a feeling of shame starting to seep through her veins and subdue the pit of rage ever so slightly.

One-hundred and fifteen points, and it was only the first day of classes. She would certainly be getting quite the backlash from fellow housemates in the coming weeks.

"For Mr. Malfoy, ninety-five points will be taken from Slytherin house."

The look on Draco's face as she declared the lower sum was enough to nearly cause Gemma to launch herself out of her seat and hex the living daylights out of him all over again. This time she'd turn him into something worse than a ferret, perhaps one of those Blast Ended Shrewts they'd had to deal with in Hagrid's class.

His shit-eating grin was carving into his cheeks, and he sent a cocky smirk in Gemma's direction. Gemma's nails dug forcefully into her palm, surely leaving an array of bloody half-moon marks in their wake. How could McGonagall give him a lesser punishment? He had started the whole thing by verbally berating Ron, and bringing up her father. He deserved to have just as many points taken away as she had.

Before Gemma could open her mouth to voice such opinions, Professor McGonagall held up her hand.

"That is not all," she continued, this time pulling out her own chair and taking a seat across from them. She tucked her wand back into her robes, folding her hands together atop the smooth mahogany surface, "As you know, Professor Dumbledore announced that we will be hosting the Triwizard Tournament this year."

Both Gemma and Draco nodded slowly in acknowledgment at her words, still not looking at each other. What was she going to do? Have the two of them fight it out during the tournament? Gemma honestly wouldn't have minded getting to duel the evil boy that sat next to her. She'd crush him.

Professor McGonagall glanced back and forth between them.

"For the remainder of the year, the both of you will be serving detention together. You shall assist the house-elves in their duties as they prepare for the arrival of our foreign guests, as well as with the upkeep of their dormitories throughout their stay."

Draco was standing, palms flat on the desk, before she'd finished.

" _You've got to be joking_ ," he hissed maliciously, glare piercing, " _I will not be treated like a servant_!"

"Mr. Malfoy-"

"And I will certainly not be doing it alongside that," Draco waved his hand in Gemma's direction as if she were a piece of rubbish he didn't want to touch, "Pathetic excuse for a witch."

"Mr. Malfoy!" Professor McGonagall stood abruptly so that she was no longer beneath his glowering frame, she was undoubtedly shouting now, "That is enough! Another five points from Slytherin. You will serve detention with Miss Bane and you will do so without any further complaints, do you understand?"

The chair Draco had been sitting in hit the ground with a thunderous bang as he picked it up and threw it. It hit the floor with a deafening crash, one of its legs splintering up the middle. Malfoy turned around, shoulders heaving, and marched towards the door. He flexed his fingers as he locked eyes with Gemma, as if he wanted to toss her next.

A murderous look on his face, he stopped with his hand on the door, icy daggers piercing from the depths of his grey eyes. The witches stared back at him in shock.

"My father will hear about this," he spit.

And with that, he wrenched open the tall door and exited the office without even a look backward, slamming it shut behind him.

Professor McGonagall seemed to be at a loss of words, and Gemma just shook her head. What else could she expect? It was Draco Malfoy. Wasn't a surprise the pureblood didn't like getting his hands dirty.

The echo of the door hitting its hinges lingered in his wake, casting a vacant, nasty cloud over the room.

"If I may, Professor," Gemma murmured, unsure if she should even be giving a suggestion, "I don't suppose it's possible we serve out detentions separately? I think Malfoy may be a bit more, er, receptive to the punishment if he were to do it alone."

"No," Professor McGonagall shook her head, pinching the space between her eyebrows with her forefingers in tired frustration, "No, that defeats the purpose. The two of you have proven you cannot even live in proximity to one another, and until you can learn to at least be _civil_ you will serve detention together."

"But Professor, it's not just me he has a problem with. Malfoy doesn't get along with anyone in our year," croaked Gemma, wringing her hands lightly.

It sounded bad out loud, but it was the truth. The only people Draco was ever seen socializing with included, Crabbe, Goyle, Blaise, and occasionally Pansy Parkinson and Milicent Bulstrode.

And even then, he more so spoke at them, rather than with them. Professor McGonagall let out a sigh and wordlessly pulled a quill from one of the desk drawers.

"Well, then perhaps you'll be able to change that," she said, dipping the pointy tip in a small open inkpot.

She scratched out a few hasty words onto a piece of spare parchment, before folding it up neatly and placing it in a crisp, clean envelope.

"I will inform the staff of your punishment," she held up the letter, "You will meet Madam Bixhorn on the fourth floor tomorrow at 6 o'clock for your first detention. Mr. Malfoy will be informed of this as well."

Gemma nodded and bit her lip, holding her tongue.

"You may go now, Miss Bane," Professor McGonagall said, dismissing Gemma. With a polite thank you, Gemma stood, smoothing out her skirt and adjusting her robes.

Professor McGonagall turned and exited through the small back door. Gemma turned on her heel, walking in the opposite direction and hurrying out of the study as fast as her legs would carry her. When she burst into the chilled corridor, she let her falsified cool composure drop almost instantly. Her eyebrows dropped in heavy set infuriation, her face burning.

Gemma had never wanted to hit something so badly in her life.

Not only had she lost Gryffindor one-hundred and fifteen points, whilst Draco only lost ninety-five (although it was assumably one-hundred now), but she was required to spend the rest of her fourth year serving detention with the insufferable brat of a boy? Gemma let out an audible groan-like yelp, trying to expel some of the frustration she felt inside. She closed her eyes, taking a few deep breaths to try and calm herself.

There was no point in getting riled up, what was done was done.

When she'd deemed herself able to carry on without smashing her fist into the dirty grey brick, Gemma took off back down the corridor, getting back to the Gryffindor common room and her friends the only thing on her mind.

She'd barely started back towards the Entrance Hall when she was shoved suddenly and aggressively up against the wall.

"If you think, for even a second, that I will be forced to spend the rest of this year in the same room as you doing filthy, degrading chores, you're sadly mistaken."

Malfoy's hands gripped the collar of Gemma's robes as he growled harshly in her face. Her mouth gaped in shock, embarrassment at the small squeal she'd let out igniting the tips of her ears.

"I don't do charity work, Bane. Especially not for the orphanage."

Gemma bit back at him, finding her voice, resentment sticking to the roof of her mouth.

"Don't flatter yourself. As if I'd willingly breathe the same air as you," she ground out.

Gemma grabbed hold of the long fingers that were still attached to her clothes and wrenched them off. She didn't move away though. In fact, she took a step closer to him, a red haze fogging her vision.

"And don't you _ever_ ," she spat, " _Ever_ , put your hands on me again, Malfoy. _Ever._ "

Their vicious sneers waged war against each other, total disgust the only evident emotion on either of their features.

After a moment, when neither of them had said anything else, Gemma stepped around him, ramming her shoulder against his on purpose. He stumbled at the impact, whipping his head around at her retreating figure.

He watched, anger running hot currents through his knuckles, as she disappeared down the hall and up the stairs. It took everything in him not to throw up violently on the floor.

Draco wiped his hands on the sides of his pants furiously, wanting her disgusting DNA off of him. He turned, casting one last nasty glare at where Gemma had disappeared, before making his way back towards the dungeons and the Slytherin common room. He wound his way through the dark castle, glaring into the nothingness. 'Professor McGonagall should be fired, the mental, old lady,' he thought to himself. Detention? With that wretched girl?

He would rather unearth a mandrake without earmuffs on.

Lagging shadows followed Draco's thin frame as he descended deeper into the depths of the old building, shoes slapping against the steps in heated paces. Finally reaching the familiar stretch of stone wall, he grumbled the password into vacant air. A narrow, dank hall revealed itself before him, and he descended down, stepping fully into the common room.

Upon entering, the place seemed fairly empty, only two lone students sitting at a table towards the far back. Draco's stormy approach had the studious pair quickly gathering their things and stumbling up the stairs away from the boiling boy.

The painting over the mantle looked out on the expansive living space, the serpent's beady gaze seeming to follow Draco as he gripped his emerald tie in one hand and wrenched it from around his neck. He threw it angrily on the couch, and violently kicked the blackened-wood coffee table hard. If he wasn't already facing detention he probably would have done much worse to the piece of furniture, but he didn't suppose it would help his case very much.

The Slytherin common room definitely looked like it belonged in a dungeon, with its black and green draperies covering the walls being the only thing that could be described as even remotely cozy. The sets of tables and chairs were all inky in color, and their plush velveteen gave a similar illusion as the water on the Black Lake did at twilight. The temperature was similar to that of a refrigerator, although it seemed to raise a few degrees at the hot-headed blonde's entrance.

Draco paced back and forth at the hearth, bitterness coating his tongue. He wanted someone to yell at, and he almost wished his housemates hadn't fled so soon. He probably could've found something to berate them for. This was a problem Draco faced often, needing to rid his body of a particular feeling and not quite understanding how to. Throughout his life, his father had taught him a variety of things. To sit still and not ask questions, to not associate with Mudbloods, to remember who you are, who your family is.

Coping mechanisms, on the other hand, were not part of that lesson plan.

When he was riled up at home, Draco would usually harass one of the house-elves until he was satisfied, his rage successfully subdued at seeing the frightened, wrinkly creatures cowering in a corner. But at Hogwarts, he'd had to find a substitute. Harry Potter and his lot of ruddy friends had served just fine, and he found a decent amount of pleasure in getting them in trouble when possible.

Only this time, he had somehow managed to get himself tangled up in the snares he'd set himself. And detention with that infuriating Gemma Bane was the consequence.

There was no way Draco was going to let himself be lowered to such a level, not a chance in bloody hell. With a fierce bought of determination, he stormed over towards the desk his housemates had departed from, snatching up one of the parchment rolls they'd left behind. Picking up the lonely quill, he sat down and began drafting a brief letter to his father.

Surely Lucius Malfoy would never let his son perform the duties of a servant under the guise of punishment.

__

Gemma stepped through the portrait hole into the Gryffindor common room still steaming. She could still feel his grip close to her throat, choking. Subconsciously, she ran her hands up and down the sides of her neck, an attempt at willing away the tightness that seemed to cling there.

As soon as she'd crossed the threshold, Harry, Ron, and Hermione were on their feet, scrambling over towards her.

"What happened?" Harry asked.

"Did you get expelled?" Ron prided

"Oh, would you two shut up and let her speak," Hermione interrupted, taking Gemma's arm in her comforting grip and guiding her over to the couch. Gemma sat down gently, the soft cushion sinking as the trio perched themselves around her.

Hermione balanced herself on the arm of the couch, Ron splayed out on the floor, and Harry sat in a high-backed armchair across from Gemma. They all looked at her expectantly.

"I'm not expelled," she spoke, answering the unsaid question.

"Bloody hell," Ron said, "I thought you were a goner for sure."

Gemma gave him a stern look and he cracked a joking smile.

"What did Professor McGonagall say?" inquired Harry, the warm orange light bouncing off his glasses.

Gemma picked at a loose thread on the hem of her sweater, unsure of how her friends were going to take the hit to the house points.

"Um, one-hundred and fifteen points from Gryffindor," she mumbled, not meeting their curious stares.

"Ouch," mused Ron, a hand clasped over his chest as if the hit to their points physically pained him.

"That's not all that bad," Harry offered, "Ron and I have lost more than that before." He kicked Ron lightly with his shoe as if to prove his point.

"I also have to help the house-elves prepare for the other schools' arrival for the Triwizard Tournament, for the rest of the year," continued Gemma, the other three screwing up their faces in disdain, "With Malfoy."

"Now, that's rotten luck," Ron said, going on to grumble to himself about Malfoy not even knowing what the word 'chores' meant.

"I mean, honestly Gemma," intervened Hermione, "You really shouldn't have hexed him. It's a miracle you're not having to pack your bags right now."

Gemma frowned slightly, her wand digging into the side of her hip.

"I know, I wasn't planning on it. But-" she hesitated, "But when he mentioned my father, and yours Harry," she offered him a cursory glance, "It's like I just, snapped. Everything went black, and before I knew it, ferret!"

She looked up at the faces of her friends, all studying her with interest.

"Well, sometimes we do things without thinking," Harry said, "And it turns out better than if we had. I probably wouldn't be alive right now if I did."

"That doesn't mean she shouldn't think, Harry," Hermione scolded, "Just because you've gotten lucky a few times."

"Hey, I'm three-for-three so far," Harry grinned cheekily.

Ron let out an amused laugh, and Gemma giggled lightly. Even Hermione was trying to surprise the urge to smile.

"Alright, it's been quite a day," Gemma said, "If you don't mind, I think I'm going to head up to bed now." She smoothed out a few invisible wrinkles in her clothes as she straightened.

"Can I just ask you one more thing?" Ron called out as Gemma made her way over towards the spiral stairs leading up to her bed, which was more than screaming her name.

"Sure," she mused.

"Would you do it again?" asked Ron, blinking up at her.

"In a heartbeat."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> DISCLAIMER: 
> 
> I do not own any of the original Harry Potter characters, world, or plot. The stories and their livelihood belong to J.K. Rowling. Any characters, world-building, or plotlines that diverge from the original books alternatively are mine.
> 
> This story is also posted on Wattpad under the same username 'lacedpink'. Both of these accounts are owned by me. Any other postings are not authorized unless explicitly stated.


	5. Uitwaaien

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter contains direct quotes from 'Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire'. All credit to J.K. Rowling.

**_Chapter 5_ **  
**UITWAAIEN**

uitwaaien  
( _v.) to take a break to clear one's head; lit. to 'walk in the wind'_

**IT** wasn't very often that Gemma went somewhere without one of her friends tagging along. If she was studying, Hermione or Ginny would usually join, the three of them pooling over pots of ink and rolls of parchment. If she was heading out for a Quidditch scrimmage, Harry wouldn't take no for an answer even if she'd said so. And if she was hanging out in the common room, Ron or some of her other fellow Gryffindors were almost always milling about.

But there were the occasional solitary moments in which Gemma managed to escape from the crowded halls and hallowed classrooms, stealing away a few hours to bask in a blissful complete and utter silence.

She always found it easier to think in the quiet.

On a particularly sunny Wednesday, Gemma couldn't quite seem to settle her mind. Her entire Potions lesson had been spent trying to focus on the boiling cauldron in front of her, but Professor Snape's monotonous voice reminded her too closely of the one she was dreading having to hear later on. Her sleep had been pitiful, as she'd begun to dread the sunrise of the new day before her head had even hit her pillow.

It was her first day of detention with Draco.

Just the thought of having to be near the wretched boy made her skin crawl and her fists clench. She was still itching to land a square one right on his irritatingly perfect-sloped nose, picturing the way the bruise would clash brilliantly with his nearly-white hair.

She smiled to herself just thinking about the satisfying crunch.

The wind kicked up, ruffling at the hem of her robes that were hanging off the sides of the bench she was sprawled on. Gemma had successfully managed to duck out of lunch, providing her friends with the excuse that she wasn't feeling very well and was going to see Madam Pomfrey in the hospital wing. Hermione had insisted on accompanying her, but Gemma assured her she'd be fine and see them all later in class. It wasn't a complete and total lie, thinking about her impending punishment did make her feel a bit sick to her stomach.

She'd wandered leisurely in the direction of her favorite courtyard, one on the edge of the castle, just below the clock tower. Centered in the middle was a decently sized fountain, although in all the time that Gemma visited she'd never once seen the aged stone produce even the tiniest drop of water.

Still, the green moss that wound around its base and covered the floor provided a plush accent of nature, and its sweet scent soothed her senses slightly. Delicately, she turned the page of the book that was laying in her lap, eyes skimming the dark letters. It was an edition she'd picked up in the library on her way outside, not too keen on trying to focus on anything related to her classes.

Instead, she'd grabbed a copy of _Quidditch Through The Ages,_ and had happily been engrossed in it for at least an hour. Gemma smiled as an illustration of a golden snitch darted its way across the paper, zipping in between the sentences as it went. She placed her thumb over it as it hit the edge of the paragraph she was reading, successfully trapping it underneath her finger.

Over her years of schooling, prior to her coming to Hogwarts, Gemma had been a Seeker. Her old school had drafted her on only a few months before she found out she'd be transferring, but the few games she'd had the pleasure of playing had been some of the happiest moments of her life. Zipping around on the Nimbus 2000 her mother had gifted her was one of the only things that could bring her peace at times, and she missed the feeling of the wind whipping at her hair more than she cared to admit.

Quidditch had always come naturally to her, the snitch always seeming to beckon her on instinct, as if some of its shining gold ran through her veins. Unfortunately, as she'd learned upon her arrival, the Gryffindor house team already had a Seeker, and she couldn't deny that Harry was a brilliant one at that.

But that didn't stop the small pit of jealousy to spark in her heart at the sight of him dashing across the pitch on game days.

Gemma let out a tired sigh, shaking her head, and reading on. She'd almost come to the end of the chapter in which the author was describing the development of a new broom maneuver when a thin envelope suddenly obscured the text.

Gemma blinked in delayed shock, delicately touching it's creamy surface as she picked it up. She turned it over, brows furrowing at the lack of address. She glanced overhead, expecting to see Lady retreating toward the Owlery, but was greeted only by the eerily vacant sky.

The sunlight glared off the harsh paper, and before she could talk herself out of it, Gemma had pried open the waxy red seal. She grasped the edges of the envelope, squeezing the opening wider and tipping its contents out onto the still-open book.

A small, square piece of paper fell out, it's size no bigger than a box of playing cards.

Upon closer inspection, Gemma could see that it in fact was not blank. It was a photograph. She lifted it towards her face, squinting down at the two laughing faces, one of them heart-achingly familiar.

Her mother, looking to be about fifteen years younger, was sitting on what appeared to be a leather couch. Jocelyn's school robes were gathered around her as she leaned against the back of the Gryffindor common room lounge. Behind her, with her arms wrapped around her neck in a friendly embrace, was another girl. And although the photo was black and white, Gemma recognized that face almost immediately.

It was the woman from her dream, the one she'd seen her mother arguing with at the Leaky Cauldron.

Even without color, she knew that the locks of hair that appeared to be twisted back in a similar fashion to Gemma's were flaming auburn. The two of them were laughing, eyes gleaming up at Gemma as they looked between each other and the lens of the camera. Lightly, she ran her finger over her mother's smiling face, a million questions swarming her mind at once.

Did this mean her dream wasn't a dream at all? And if it wasn't a dream, what had it been? A memory? Gemma couldn't recall ever having met this strange woman, but she also couldn't help but feel like she knew her somehow. Like she'd seen her face, her eyes, before. The way she grinned at Jocelyn and then back again.

Almost hesitantly, Gemma tore her gaze away from their smiles, turning the photograph over in her hands. On the backside, written in loose cursive letters, it said:

_Jocelyn & Lily. My two lovely girls._

Confused, Gemma read the sentence over and over again. What was this? And more importantly, who in the world had sent it to her?

The loud clang of the bell startled Gemma out of her mystified trance, and she gasped as she nearly dropped the picture into the muddy moss, catching it just before it hit the ground. The clock began to chime, notifying her she had just over fifteen minutes to make her way to Defense Against the Dark Arts, which thankfully was only a few corridors away.

Deciding she didn't have time to continue to mull over the strange photograph, she hurriedly tucked it back into its envelope and stuffed the entire thing between the pages of _Quidditch Through The Ages._ Slamming the book closed and swinging her legs back onto the soft ground, Gemma stood up hastily. Other students were starting to flood the courtyard as they began to change classes, all talking quietly in small groups as the traipsed about, robes billowing behind them.

Gemma bent down to grab her bag, and without paying much attention, slugged it over her shoulder. A surprised grunt of pain had her swiveling around, hand covering her mouth in horror.

"Oh, oh my, I'm so sorry!" she exclaimed, both palms clasped tightly over her lips. The tall boy was clutching his forehead, where presumably a welt was beginning to form.

His light brown hair was tickling his porcelain skin, and even in her embarrassed state she couldn't help but notice how handsome he was. The golden yellow of his Hufflepuff uniform went well with his almost honey-like locks, and the groan he'd let out upon Gemma's assault passed through perfectly pink lips.

Horrified recognition was beginning to inflame her cheeks.

"You've got an arm on you there," said Cedric Diggory, rubbing at his temple.

"I- I wasn't paying attention. I- gosh, I'm just so sorry," Gemma stuttered out, clenching her eyes tightly as the awkward words tumbled out over one another.

He laughed lightly, finally lowering his hand and inspecting it, as if checking for blood.

"It's ok, I think I'll live," said Cedric, smiling down at Gemma kindly.

Gemma chuckled nervously in response, tugging her bag tighter against her back as if to prevent it from making contact with any other handsome passerby.

"Well, I'll just get out of your way then," she murmured almost to herself, making to move around the golden boy.

"Wait," Cedric voiced, causing Gemma to pause in her retreat.

She gazed up at him, head cocked to the side in curiosity at why he wasn't trying to run away from her as quickly as possible, out of reach of any other potential injuries.

"You were in my carriage, on the way up to the castle, off the Hogwarts Express. You were with that Ravenclaw girl."

Gemma had to physically flex her face muscles in order to prevent her jaw from hitting the floor. She cleared her throat, trying to focus her jumbled thoughts. Her brain appeared to be mush at the moment.

"Oh, uh, yea. Yea, I was with Luna. I didn't even realize it was you," Gemma answered, breathing out through her nose to try and calm herself. "I'm Gemma. Gemma Bane."

"Cedric," he replied, "Nice to formally meet you Gemma. Where are you headed off to?"

"Um, Defense Against the Dark Arts," said Gemma.

"Mind if I walk with you? I've got to head that way anyway," Cedric asked, still grinning down at a flustered Gemma. Not seeming to be able to find her words, Gemma just nodded in response.

The pair began to make their way back into the castle, a few students waving shy 'hellos' to Cedric as they passed.

"So, what year are you?" he spoke, attempting to start a conversation with the uncharacteristically quiet Gryffindor.

"Fourth year," Gemma responded, her nerves ebbing ever so slightly as they continued down the hallway. The shock of their unpleasant meeting timidly wearing away as their ears filled with the chatter of their classmates. "You?"

"Sixth," Cedric beamed. Gemma looked up at him, eyes widening in realization.

"That means you're seventeen. Are you going to be entering into the tournament then?"

Cedric seemed to grow even taller at her words, a prideful glint in his gaze.

"Yea, still got to be picked though," he said, side-stepping around a group of first-years who were blocking their path.

One of them who seemed to be enthusiastically squealing at something, flailed their arm carelessly and Gemma almost lost hold of the book in her arms. Cedric's quick reflexes snatched the falling object just before it could go stuttering across the corridor. As he handed the leather-bound pages back to her, his eyes skimmed over the title gracing the cover.

" _Quidditch Through The Ages,_ " he read, "Do you play?"

Gemma nodded her head, ducking her chin so that some of her hair covered the dimples in her cheeks.

"I used to, at my old school," she told him, "I was Seeker."

"Ah, a fellow Seeker," he gave her a quick once over that had Gemma squirming in her loafers, "You seem like you'd be the type."

"What does that mean?" Gemma inquired curiously, the space between her brows crinkling.

"You seem small, agile, like you'd be quick on a broom," he explained nonchalantly, "As fast as the snitch I reckon."

Gemma pondered the assumption, finding it hard to disagree with his accurate profile. She had always found it rather easy to dart amongst the other players, snagging the snitch before any of them were wiser.

Cedric glanced down at the crimson and gold tie hanging loosely around Gemma's neck, just barely peeking out from underneath her robes, "But I'm assuming Potter's not going anywhere anytime soon?"

"No," Gemma frowned, "Considering You-Know-Who couldn't even get rid of him, I doubt there's a single thing in the world that could keep him away from Quidditch."

Cedric's laugh reverberated above the noise of the hallway, and he scratched the back of his neck casually.

"Indeed," he said as the two of them reached the door to Professor Moody's classroom.

As Gemma paused in the doorway, Cedric turned so that he was walking backwards away from her, giving her a cheeky grin.

"Well, guess I'll see you around, Little Snitch."

Gemma's heart beat against her chest as Cedric swiveled on his heel and continued in the opposite direction, clapping one of his mates on the shoulder as he went. With a shaky breath, the nickname making somersaults in her head, Gemma made her way into the already full classroom. Only a few of the other students spared her a glance as she made her way over to her desk.

Hermione was already seated on the adjacent stool, nose buried in her textbook, not looking up even as Gemma began unpacking her parchment and quills. A harsh hiss over her shoulder caused Gemma to turn abruptly, her neck craning.

Lavender Brown was beaming at her, hands tapping out an excited rhythm on her desk.

"Did I just see you talking to Cedric Diggory in the hallway, Gemma?" The look of joy at potentially receiving new gossip coating her deceivingly innocent features.

Gemma cleared her throat somewhat uncomfortably.

"Uh, yea," she answered wearily.

"What did he say? Did he walk you to class? Did he ask you out?" the girl was nearly leaping out of her seat.

"We were just talking about Quidditch, he saw the book I was reading," Gemma replied, shrugging her shoulders.

She wasn't about to mention hitting the poor boy in the face. The action had been embarrassing enough, let alone recounting the whole ordeal.

"Oh come on, Gemma. Cedric Diggory doesn't just go up to girls and start talking to them, especially not 4th years. What else did he say?" Lavender pressed, lapping up any information she could get.

"Nothing. That was it," Gemma glanced sideways at Hermione who had finally decided to tear her attention away from the text in front of her and was now listening intently as well.

"Really," Gemma emphasized.

Luckily, at that exact moment, the sound of the classroom door being slammed shut sufficiently cut off any more of Lavender's investigative questions. Mad-Eye Moody was limping his way up the center aisle of the room, wooden leg making a hollow, haunting sound with each step. When he'd reached the front of the room, he turned to face his pupils, all of them staring back at him in anxious anticipation. This was their first Defense Against The Dark Arts class of the year, and based on Fred, George, and Lee Jordan's raving reviews, it was more than something to look forward to.

With a sudden clap of his gnarled hands, Moody addressed the class.

"So...straight into it. Curses."

Everyone seemed to perk up at the word, looking curiously at one another. Curses were new territory for them, having mainly only covered things along the lines of bogarts and grindylows in the past.

"They come in many strengths and forms," continued Mad-Eye, "Now, according to the Ministry of Magic, I'm supposed to teach you counter curses and leave it at that. I'm not supposed to show you what illegal Dark curses look like until you're in sixth year."

At the mention of their sixth year, Lavender gave Gemma's stool a swift quick in teasing, puckering her lips at her. Gemma rolled her eyes, adjusting the ribbon in her hair, and focusing back on their professor who was still speaking.

"So, do any of you know which curses are most heavily punished by Wizarding law?" Moody asked, surveying the room.

Several hands rose, Ron's surprisingly being one of them. The redhead was sat a few rows in front of Gemma and Hermione, Harry at his side.

Moody nodded at him.

"Er," Ron began, "My dad's mentioned one before. I think, is it the Imperius Curse or something?"

"Ah, yes," Moody drawled, "the Imperius Curse."

With a flourish of his hand, he tugged open one of the desk drawers nearest to him and brandished a large, clear jar. Inside were three, crawling black spiders. Ron's face paled at the sight of them. Moody unscrewed the lid, reaching into the jar so that one of the insects could crawl up onto his palm.

Holding it out in front of him, with his other hand firmly gripping his wand, he aimed it at the spider and muttered, " _Imperio_!"

Almost instantly, the spider began to dance. It cartwheeled out of his hand onto the desk, doing a few impressive backflips before sauntering into a sophisticated tap dance. The howls of laughter from the students could be heard from the floor above as the eight-legged creature began to salsa.

Abruptly, Moody stopped, the spider halting, frozen in its flared stance.

"Think it's funny, do you?" He all but growled, "You'd like it if I did it to you?"

Everyone's mouths shut almost instantly.

"I could make it jump out of a window, drown itself," he flicked the tip of his wand, making the spider inch closer to the edge of the desk where a candle was flickering steadily, "Total control."

The spider advanced towards the open flame, closer and closer. But just before it could singe one of its tiny legs, Moody instead directed it to crawl back into the open-mouthed jar.

"Used to be a lot of witches and wizards being controlled by the Imperius Curse," he said, his tone heavily implying a particular dark wizard could be to blame, "Some job for the Ministry, trying to sort out who was being forced to act, and who was acting of their own free will. Thankfully, the Imperius Curse can be fought, and I'll be teaching you how. Still best to avoid it if you can."

His magic eye flickered over the now silent class.

"Anyone else know another one?"

This time, Neville's hand rose along with Hermione's, and Moody smiled at him.

"Yes?" He asked, waiting patiently for Neville to speak.

"The Cruciatus Curse," said Neville timidly.

Moody nodded, turning and taking out another spider from inside the jar. Then, he aimed his wand at the writhing thing, and shouted, " _Crucio!"_ The spider began to squirm in pain, its legs flailing in torture. Everyone gasped, some people covering their eyes. After a minute of watching its body twist in agony, a voice from beside Gemma erupted in a cry.

"Stop it!" Hermione yelled out, looking like she was trying to hold back tears. But the look omg her face was nothing compared to that of Neville's, who had tears spilling down his quivering cheeks.

Professor Moody, threw a cursory glance at the weeping boy, before lowering his wand. The spider finally stopped it's twitching.

"The Torture Curse," he said, "Some would argue it's even worse than the final curse. Does anyone know what that one is?"

" _Avada Kedavra,"_ whispered Hermione, as if speaking it alone would sentence someone to death.

"Yes. The Killing Curse," Moody nodded, having heard her quiet answer.

Without hesitation, Moody tipped the last spider onto the desk. It scuttled quickly away from him, as if it knew what was coming. But it was no match for the fiery green light that shot out from the end of the professor's wand as he roared, " _Avada Kedavra!"_

In a flash, with the noise of something soaring through the air, the spider rolled over onto its back. Unmarked, but most certainly dead.

Shocked cries were the only noise that followed.

"There is no counter curse. No way of blocking it," Mad-Eye said as he casually swept the spider's unmoving body onto the floor, "The only known person to ever have survived it is sitting here in this very room."

Almost instantly all eyes were turned to Harry, who looked almost embarrassed down at his desk. Hermione and Gemma looked from their friend to each other knowingly.

"But as I was saying before, some people believe that the Cruciatus Curse is almost worse than the Killing Curse. With the Killing Curse, you are dead. Instantly," Moody began to descend towards the students, eye fixed on each of them as he wandered the length of the classroom.

"With the Cruciatus Curse, you have to live with the knowledge of that kind of pain. Forever."

Gemma couldn't help but shiver at his words, gooseflesh prickling her skin beneath her heavy robes. It sounded miserable.

"Torture can turn even the best of wizards into a traitor," he stopped alongside Gemma and Hermione's desk, tapping it lightly with his mangled finger.

"These three curses; _Avada Kedavra_ , Imperius, and Cruciatus - are known as the Unforgivable Curses. The use of any one of them on a fellow human being is worth a life sentence in Azkaban. This is why I'm teaching you about them. You need to know what you're up against."

He stepped away from their desk, meandering back up towards the front of the room.

"Get out your quills...copy this down."

__

The remainder of class was spent taking notes on the Unforgivable Curses, and by the time Gemma, Hermione, Ron, and Harry had emerged into the corridor, they were each flexing their hands in stiffness.

"That was certainly an intense class," Gemma mumbled, groaning as her knuckles cracked appreciatively.

"Bloody terrifying, the way he just killed it like that," Ron shuddered, toes wiggling in his shoes at the mental image.

The other three grimaced in agreement, beginning to make their way towards the Great Hall for dinner. Murmurs followed them the whole way there, as the rest of their classmates also couldn't stop discussing Professor Moody's lesson. When they'd finally taken their seats at the Gryffindor table, Gemma could hardly argue against the rumbling in her stomach. She'd skipped on lunch in order to have her quiet time in the courtyard, and hadn't realized how hungry she was until she'd taken a bite of the roast in front of her.

The 4th years chatted amongst themselves as they ate, Ron, Harry, and Seamus talking Quidditch, Hermione and Gemma conversing about the Muggle book Hermione had given Gemma over the summer. Only when the clock struck a quarter to six did Gemma remember that she had somewhere to be.

"Oh, bullocks," she groaned, slapping her forehead with her hand.

"What is it?" Ginny asked, she'd joined the girls about halfway through their meal.

"Detention. At 6 o'clock," Gemma grumbled grouchily. Dread started to seep through her bloodstream, and she began to check to make sure she had all her belongings.

"You'll be fine, Gemma," Hermione offered, laying a comforting hand on Gemma's arm as she rose from the table. "Just kill him with kindness. And if that doesn't work, try a silencing charm."

Gemma laughed.

"Hermione Granger? Suggesting using magic? Did you hit your head?"

"No," Hermione smiled, "Just being realistic."

Gemma and Ginny both giggled in response, and Gemma gave both girls a swift hug and wave goodbye before making her way back towards the towering oak doors. She'd almost grasped the handle of the large doors when she heard a voice calling her name over the dinner discussions.

"Gemma!"

She turned towards the sound, focusing her ears in the direction of the Hufflepuff table. Cedric was elbowing one of his friends hard, who was laughing silently. Cedric gave Gemma a small wave, still nudging his friend with his free arm. Gemma waved back with a chuckle.

Normally, she'd consider going over and saying hi, but she, unfortunately, had somewhere to be. Before she could get in trouble again for being late, she exited the Great Hall and made her way up the grand marble staircase towards the fourth floor. The portraits on the wall followed her movements as she went, a few calling out to her as she passed. She amused them politely as she continued her ascent.

When she finally crested the last staircase, she was greeted by the sight of a short, round witch who was standing in the middle of the vacant corridor. She had a stained apron tied tightly around her middle, and a large bucket of cleaning supplies in her hands. Her grey dress hit just above her swelling ankles, the fabric patched at the cuffs and hem. Her overall appearance was of a large, scrappy quilt.

Gemma approached her shyly, hands folded in front of her.

"Um, Madam Bixhorn?" Gemma asked quietly, as if speaking too loudly would somehow make her mad and make the inevitable punishment even worse.

"Yes. You must be Gemma," the housekeeper said, she spared a quick look behind Gemma, "Where's the other one?"

Gemma frowned at the empty hall, well aware a certain arrogance was missing from the chilly air.

"I'm afraid I'm not sure, Madam."

Madam Bixhorn harrumphed, readjusting the bucket in her arms.

"Wasting my time, things to do," she mumbled irritatingly to herself, "Well, here, " she shoved the load of sponges and mops into Gemma's arms, "You two are to begin by cleaning the girls' lavatory. Make sure to put a sign on the door so no one enters. And remember, no magic. Wouldn't be much of a punishment if you did."

Gemma grimaced in acknowledgment, watching as Madam Bixhorn rubbed her hands against the side of her skirts.

"Also may want to take off those robes, don't want them getting wet."

Without another word, the plump elderly woman brushed past Gemma and towards a portrait on the wall.

The painting swung open, revealing a staircase that descended down to what Gemma guessed was probably the kitchens. When it had latched shut behind her, Gemma let out a sigh, now left alone on the deserted fourth floor.

Or so she thought.

"You heard her, Bane. Take your clothes off."

It was going to be a long night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> DISCLAIMER: 
> 
> I do not own any of the original Harry Potter characters, world, or plot. The stories and their livelihood belong to J.K. Rowling. Any characters, world-building, or plotlines that diverge from the original books alternatively are mine.
> 
> This story is also posted on Wattpad under the same username 'lacedpink'. Both of these accounts are owned by me. Any other postings are not authorized unless explicitly stated.


	6. Defenestrate

**_Chapter 6_ **  
**DEFENESTRATE**

_defenestrate_  
_(_ _v.) to throw someone or something out of a window_

**"SHOVE** off Malfoy," Gemma grumbled, her eyes rolling so far it felt like she could see the back of her head.

Draco stared at her from his position against the wall where he was leaning, one foot propped up as if to help balance him. His arms were folded, emerald lining peeking out from the sleeves of his robes.

"Don't want us to get into any more trouble, do you?" He mocked, "Better do what the wench said."

"Says the one who was late," retorted Gemma, glaring at him pointedly, "If you want me out of my robes, you're gonna have to do a lot more than just stand there. Now let's go."

Draco's forehead wrinkled in annoyance, the familiar flare of anger radiating off of him. Gemma turned away from the glowering boy and started to make her way down the dreary corridor towards the girls' bathroom. The absence of following footsteps mocked her as her shoes made lonely contact against the stone floor. She muttered bitterly under her breath as she tried to keep all the cleaning tools in her hands from spilling out all over the place.

Gemma nudged her shoulder against the lavatory door, using the weight of her body to push her way inside. The white tiles glinting back at her were scummy with mildew, and a strange odor seemed to be wafting from one of the stalls. She scrunched her nose, trying her hardest not to gag on the fumes. At least they weren't assigned to Moaning Myrtle's bathroom on the first floor.

Gemma already heard enough moping from her detention partner.

For a brief moment, she thought he wasn't going to follow her at all, and she'd end up having to clean the entire bathroom herself. But to her almost unpleasant surprise, she could faintly hear his heavy footfalls as he made his way after her. Gemma had only just set down the silver pail when the distinctive clang of the door echoed behind her.

"They've got to be bloody joking," Draco choked out, shoving his face into the crook of his arm in an attempt to block out the putrid smell.

Gemma leaned down, ignoring his remark, and pulled out two rags and matching spray bottles filled with Mrs. Skower's All-Purpose Magical Mess Remover from the stack of supplies. She threw a spare glance at the stalls with a shudder, definitely not ready to tackle those yet.

"We'll start on the mirrors," Gemma said, turning back to face Draco who's flair for dramatics had him fake gagging from behind the sleeve of his robes.

Without bothering to give him a warning, Gemma chucked one of the rags and bottles at him. Draco ducked to the side just in time, the nozzle just barely missing his head.

"What the hell?" he barked, finally lowering his arm to glare angrily at Gemma.

He looked at the bottle on the floor which was now leaking a greenish liquid into the grout, and back at her.

"Malfoy," Gemma sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose between her forefinger and thumb, "You don't want to be here. I don't want to be here. And the longer it takes us to clean this disgusting lavatory, the more time we have to spend together."

Even though she didn't want to give Draco the satisfaction of doing what he said, Gemma slipped her arms out of the heavy robe sleeves blanketing her. She'd tucked the picture that had been delivered to her earlier that day into the interior of her robes for safe-keeping, deciding that she didn't want to forget it between the pages of _Quidditch Through The Ages_ when she returned it.

Carefully, she folded the layers of fabric and set them alongside the bucket on the ground, laying her wand delicately on top. She rolled up the sleeves of her white uniform top so that they were bunched up around her elbows, ensuring the crisp cuffs were out of harm's way.

She grasped her bottle firmly, and meandered over towards the set of sinks lining the far wall. The bathroom was unfortunately one of the larger ones in the school, with about seven sinks and stalls running along each wall. Matching mirrors hung above them, their plain frames a dull aqua color that matched the chipping ceramic basins. In addition to the small rectangles, a tall, full-length mirror hung at the end of the row, and Gemma couldn't help but glance at her disgruntled appearance as she made her way toward the farthest sink.

Behind her reflection, she could see Draco still standing in the same spot, a murderous sneer pushing at his upper lip. He was piercing cold rays into her back as he stepped further into the bathroom. Gemma exhaled in frustration, closing her eyes for a moment as if to try and center herself.

Raising the cleaner, she began to spray the glassy surface in front of her, following it up with a few swipes of the rag. Much to her dismay, Mrs. Skower's All-Purpose Magical Mess Remover didn't smell much better than the mystery stall, and she found herself struggling not to mimic Draco's earlier gagging noises.

Tediously, Gemma made her way down the row, spraying, wiping, and repeating as she went. Movement at her side had her tossing a look to the right. Draco stood clutching his matching supplies, watching her hands as they spritzed and scrubbed.

"What? Do you not know how to clean?" Gemma inquired sarcastically, pausing her movements. Draco's eyes snapped to meet hers as he spit back nastily.

"Of course I know how to clean, just not with this useless Muggle shit. Could have this done in two seconds if they let us use magic."

"Yes, well, clearly they didn't think that would be much of a punishment," Gemma answered, rubbing at a particularly stubborn patch of grime.

"Ridiculous, treating us like house-elves. My father will be furious when he receives my letter."

Draco had also discarded his cloak and rolled up his sleeves as he stepped up to one of the unclean sinks still. The setting sunlight was filtering in through the frosted panes near the ceiling, and it made his blonde strands glow an ember-like orange.

If he wasn't such a head-fuck she'd have compared his appearance to that of a golden painting. Luckily his attitude served as a daily reminder.

"Of course, complain to daddy," Gemma mumbled under her breath, shaking her head and shifting away from Draco.

"What was that?" he hissed, his hand stopped as it hovered an inch from the mirror. Gemma let out a frustrated puff of air.

"I said, of course, complain to daddy," she whipped her head towards him, hair tossed over her shoulder, "You're a spoilt, good for nothing snitch, Malfoy. The slightest inconvenience in your life and you run to your father to fix it for you. But wait, even he doesn't love you enough to care does he?"

"This isn't my fault," Draco growled, "I'm not the one who used magic just because I can't take a joke."

Gemma ground her teeth, biting on the edge of her tongue to try and prevent her from saying something she couldn't take back. Not that she cared to spare his feelings.

"And at least I have a father to run to."

Gemma hurtled the bottle in her hand, sending it crashing through one of the windows over Draco's head. Rage thrummed at her temples, exploding in violence in less than a second. She'd barely had time to breathe before it erupted uncontrollably. Splinters of glass rained down over the two of them as Draco gaped at Gemma's heaving figure. Her face was hot to the touch, anger rolling off of her in waves. Her body was tingling, as if thousands of tiny ants were wriggling beneath her skin.

When would he learn to not bring her family into things?

Draco was fortunate Gemma's wand was across the room.

"If you dare mention my family one more time Malfoy," Gemma pointed a shaking finger at his face, "I will make sure the rest of your lonely, pathetic life, is spent in misery."

She wasn't sure how it was he managed to do it, get her riled up like that. Gemma got mad, as anyone does. But his ability to turn her temper on with a few quick-witted words was truly remarkable. He brought out a pure rage from somewhere within her she didn't care to explore much.

She hated it.

He found it amusing.

Draco let out a loud, mocking laugh.

"If you think I'm scared of a filthy little girl," Draco seemed to tower over her, "You're sorely mistaken, Bane."

Gemma was mid-calculation on how many meters away her wand was and if the satisfaction of cursing him would be worth expulsion when a sudden high pitched noise cut through the air. Both of them paused, confusion slipping through the tense anger that was sparking through the rank space. Gemma was about to voice the unasked question, but before the words could slip past her parted lips the noise sped up, transforming from an odd wail to a fierce whistle. It sounded almost like-

The sink exploded.

The pipe connecting the porcelain to the wall erupted, shooting off in a release of pressure and clanging against the nearest wall. Gemma let out a frightened yell, covering her face and head with her arms as water shot out in painful jets. Draco even let out a mangled, startled noise from the back of his throat, stumbling backward.

Water was raining down in endless, cold streams, fountaining out of the broken faucet.

"Turn it off," Draco shouted over the rushing waterfall. Gemma shot him an incredulous look.

"Turn it off? _Turn it off?_ Does it look like I can turn it off you bloody fucking idiot?"

"Do something!" exclaimed Draco over the clanging brass, "Grab your wand!"

"We can't use magic or we'll get in more trouble," Gemma spat back.

She wracked her brain for a non-magical solution. What would she do if she was at home and couldn't use magic? She groaned, trying to see through the torrential mist as she desperately tried to think of a way to stop the sink from spewing.

Gemma held her hand out towards Draco.

"Throw me your rag," she wiggled her fingers hurriedly.

He just stared back at her, as if he hadn't heard her at all.

"Quickly!"

Finally doing as he was told, Draco tossed the cloth at Gemma, and she caught it easily. Trying her best to avoid getting a mouthful of sewage, Gemma squeezed herself in between the sinks so that she could reach the now severed pipes. She began stuffing the rags down the opening, trying her best not to get caught in the several streams still making their way out around the edges. The stream was slowing, but the rags weren't enough, there was still a sizable gap in the pipe where water was surging out of.

They needed another rag or something to block the hole.

Gemma's eyes locked on the emerald and silver stripes hanging from Draco's neck.

"Tie! Now!" she shrieked, angling her face away from the flow of water.

Draco looked at her like she was insane, droplets splattering against his cheeks as he clutched the tie hanging around his neck.

"No!" he shouted back, "Use your own stupid tie!"

"I can't let go," Gemma ground out through clenched teeth, " _Give me your tie!"_

She was not in the mood for the back and forth. Her hand was beginning to ache from holding the pressure of water back. Reluctantly, Draco began to undo the knotted fabric. His knuckles were white as he held it out towards her, grip hard in irritation.

Gemma snatched it from his outstretched fingertips, immediately adding it to the make-shift stopper. The bright green began to turn a boggy black as it became waterlogged, soaking up the final stream successfully.

Gemma reached out, closing her hands around one of the broken faucet pieces. Placing it against the stopper, she pushed, trying to get the fabric down deeper so that the pressure wouldn't force it back up when she let go. She held her breath and slowly, removed her left hand from the pipe.

It held.

Relief flooded through Gemma's body as she sat back, exhaling sharply. Her clothes clung to her, hair matted at the nape of her neck. Draco was still standing, but his hair was plastered to his forehead in wet clumps and his creamy skin was visible through his damp shirt. The two didn't dare to move, afraid that if they did one of the toilets may rupture next.

A distinct, cackling laugh echoed suddenly from one of the stalls.

Rolling over in mid-air as he chortled at the two soggy students, Peeves emerged above one of the wooden doors. He could barely contain his snorts, and each time he took in their saturated attire he was sent into another fit.

"Didn't you two check the forecast?" he teased, "Potential showers expected in the fourth-floor lavatory."

"Why would you do that Peeves?" Gemma yelped, placing a hand on the sink above her to steady herself as she clumsily rose to her feet. Her socks squelched uncomfortably in her loafers. Peeve's grin widened as he swept down to them, hovering a few centimeters off the ground.

"You two seemed like you needed to cool off," he mused, sending himself into hysterics again as he laughed at their angry expressions.

Now their palatable hatred was directed at the chuckling ghost. He seemed to realize this as Draco stepped towards him, fists clenched.

"And what will the Bloody Baron think when I show up in the Slytherin common room like this and tell him Peeves was behind it?"

Peeves blanched at the mention of the Bloody Baron, the only one in Hogwarts able to scare the prankster straight. Even Dumbledore couldn't control his mischievous ways. With another threatening advance from Draco, Peeves hurriedly glided upwards.

"No need for that. Waters stopped. I'll be on my way," he called before disappearing through the ceiling and out of sight.

The sound of Gemma's skirt dripping echoed in the awkward silence that followed the ghost's retreat. Her eyes swept over the damage. The sink was completely destroyed, ceramic pieces scattered in every direction alongside the shattered glass from the window. Not to mention the bathroom was completely flooded, the floor looking like a small pond. It wouldn't be a surprise if a fish appeared swimming by one of the drains.

" _What have you done_?"

Gemma and Draco's attention was drawn to the shrill shriek from the doorway. Madam Bixhorn stood there, mouth agape at the mess before her.

"One job," she continued, "You had one job."

She glared at them, hands planted firmly on her hips. Madam Bixhorn seemed almost unable to verbalize her frustration as she motioned to them.

"Come, gather your things. You can guarantee your next detention will be spent cleaning this all up," she muttered as Gemma and Draco carefully made their way towards her.

It wasn't even worth it to try and convince her it was all Peeves. She already thought of them as trouble-making delinquents. Gemma paused by the discarded cleaning supplies, a frown turning the corners of her mouth downward. She stooped down, grasping the corner of her robes.

They were soaked.

Hesitantly, she tried to wring out as much water as she could before giving up and just draping them over her arms. The walk back to Gryffindor tower was about to be rather embarrassing.

Sure enough, just as the three of them exited the bathroom it seemed, a rush of students appeared to be coming down the end of the corridor.

Of course, dinner had just finished.

Their classmates stared as they got closer, whispering and pointing as they passed. Madam Bixhorn led the way, with Draco and Gemma trailing her with low-hung heads. Gemma was surprised Draco hadn't said anything yet, but she assumed he was probably just as embarrassed as she was.

When they arrived at the vast array of staircases, Madam Bixhorn paused and turned to face them. Gemma grimaced as students walked past them in all directions, everyone unable to tear their eyes away as the pair left a puddle-like trail in their wake.

"Back to your dormitories. I will inform Professor McGonagall of this incident and she will decide what to do with the two of you," Madam Bixhorn said.

Gemma nodded in ashamed acknowledgment. Without another word, or even waiting to see if Madam Bixhorn had anything else to say, Gemma turned and made her way up the nearest staircase. She just wanted to get back to her room as quickly as possible so she could get away from the prying eyes of her peers and out of her sopping clothes.

This was the second time the school had witnessed her and Draco get into trouble together, and she didn't like the idea that they were making a habit out of it.

Gemma tried to blend in with the crowds making their way towards the dorms as best she could, but the wet squeaking of her shoes made it increasingly hard. She was so focused on trying to reduce the sound of her footfalls that she nearly collided headfirst into someone.

"Second time today," the familiar voice met her ears, "If I didn't know any better I'd think you were doing it on purpose."

Gemma could've thrown herself back down the very stairs she just climbed at the sound of it. She looked up at Cedric, self-consciously trying to pat at the tangled hair that was stuck in flatteringly to her shoulders.

"Sorry," she apologized instinctively, a sheepish smile poking at her dimples.

Cedric just laughed, shaking his head.

"Don't worry about it," he said, "Although, I am worried about you. What happened? You look like you just went for a quick dip in the lake."

Gemma let out a breathy guffaw, not even sure where she'd start.

"Peeves," she replied, going with the briefest answer as she began to move around him, "Well, if you don't mind I'd really like to get out of these clothes."

Cedric beamed down cheekily at her words, and Gemma felt her face redden in realization.

"Of course," said Cedric, allowing her to pass him, "Go dry off."

Gemma gave him a small wave, before nearly sprinting down the hall away from him.

Could this day get any worse?

By the time she reached the portrait of the Fat Lady, Gemma's skin was itching against her wet knits. Her walk back was practically a parade, and she knew the whispers would carry into tomorrow morning.

As she approached the common room entrance, even the Fat Lady looked at her curiously.

"Balderdash," Gemma mumbled the password impatiently. She couldn't wait to crawl into her warm, dry bed.

"What happened to you?" asked the Fat Lady, ignoring her request.

"Tried to drown myself. Didn't work. Balderdash," repeated Gemma.

"Why would you do that?"

"Balderdash."

"I mean really, what a miserable way to die. So undignified."

"Balderdash."

"I knew someone who drowned once, you know and-"

" _Balderdash!"_ Gemma cried, finally fed up with the portraits rambling. She just wanted to get inside before anyone else saw her.

"No need to shout about it," mumbled the Fat Lady, finally swinging open on her hinges and letting Gemma through.

As soon as she stepped fully into the common room, three heads immediately turned in her direction. Harry, Ron, and Hermione were crowded around the fire, Harry holding what looked like a piece of parchment in his hand. Gemma shuffled over to them, trying to minimize her contact with the intricately designed carpet. As she approached them, Ron opened his mouth but she stopped him with a raise of her hand.

"Don't even ask," she grumbled, sitting down on the edge of the wooden coffee table.

Hermione winced as a drip fell from the end of one of Gemma's curls and landed on the surface. She swiped at it with her hand that was clutching the Potions textbook to her chest.

"So," Gemma continued, "What you got there?"

She gestured to the paper still held in Harry's hand.

"Oh," Harry said, voice dropping an octave to make sure no one else who was milling about the common room could overhear them, "It's a letter from Sirius."

"I forgot to fill you in," Hermione interjected, "Harry's scars been hurting recently."

Gemma gave Harry's forehead a worried glance. Harry's scar usually only hurt when in close proximity to You-Know-Who.

"It hasn't hurt since I've been at school," Harry explained further, as if trying to reassure her.

Gemma gave him a weak smile.

"And he sent me a signed photograph of the Chudley Cannons for Ron."

Almost immediately Gemma's eyes widened, panic clawing at her throat. Her hand went to the bundle still draped across her forearm. She'd forgotten about the photo in her robes.

Her now drenched robes.

Gemma lept to her feet abruptly, startling her friends.

"Everything alright?" Ron asked, peering up at her from his spot on the floor.

He was twirling a chess piece in his hands.

"Yea, yea," Gemma stuttered, "Just, really want to get out of these wet clothes."

With a flustered goodnight, Gemma bolted towards the stairs. She flew through her bedroom door, thanking Merlin that it was deserted aside from her.

She flung her robes on her bed, instantly diving for the pockets. She fumbled around for a minute, aching to feel the familiar scratch of parchment against her fingers. Her pinky brushed a sharp corner, and she yanked against the pleats and folds.

Her heart sank.

Where her mother's smiling face had been, a mess of ink stared back at her.

The photograph was ruined.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> DISCLAIMER: 
> 
> I do not own any of the original Harry Potter characters, world, or plot. The stories and their livelihood belong to J.K. Rowling. Any characters, world-building, or plotlines that diverge from the original books alternatively are mine.
> 
> This story is also posted on Wattpad under the same username 'lacedpink'. Both of these accounts are owned by me. Any other postings are not authorized unless explicitly stated.


	7. Fortune

**_Chapter 7_ **  
**FORTUNE**

_fortune_  
_(n.) chance or luck as an external, arbitrary force affecting human affairs_

**IT** had been approximately 3 weeks since the lavatory incident, and Gemma still hadn't gotten any closer to fixing the ruined photograph.

She'd tried every possible spell she could think of, and had scoured the expansive library for any other information that may have been of some use. Her excuses to Harry, Ron, and Hermione had been getting weaker and weaker, and she was starting to get the feeling that her friends were beginning to suspect her of something. Considering they had almost all of their classes together, she couldn't claim she had excess homework, and since Hermione never passed up on a study session that was no escape either.

Gemma had crafted an odd, poorly constructed tale about a Transfiguration report she was writing for Professor McGonagall to potentially get her detention sentence shortened. Even if Gemma wrote a bestselling novel about the subject, she doubted she'd be able to convince McGonagall to let her off easy.

Still, the trio had reluctantly bought her story, and Gemma had thus spent the majority of her free time tucked away in a far corner of the library. It was half-past six, and Gemma surely had already missed dinner, yet her eyes stayed glued to the page she was reading.

_The ability to decipher magical code is perhaps one of the most useful tools a young witch or wizard could have. In this edition, we cover the many ways one may go about solving even the most difficult of ciphers..._

Gemma slammed the cover of the book closed in frustration, placing her forehead against the worn leather. It seemed as if there was not a single book in the entirety of the castle that would be able to help her. Her brain felt as though it was engulfed in fog, and the pitiful glow of the lamp nearby wasn't helping. Gemma had of course considered telling her friends about the photo, but with its inky smears and no explanation for why it felt so important she had it, she'd sound like a complete and utter fool. Especially after she'd brought up her memory-like dream to Hermione, who'd assured her that's all it was.

In terms of her ongoing punishment, Gemma had only had one more detention since Peeves' prank, and it had consisted solely of the sound of wet mops and sloshing water.

Draco and she hadn't spoken a single word the whole hour.

Attempting to clean the mess without magic had proved to be futile, and Madam Bixhorn ended up having a small band of house-elves take care of the whole ordeal anyway. Gemma only hoped their next detention wasn't anywhere near a faucet.

In more enthralling news, October was around the corner and Gemma almost wished that Halloween would hurry up. That way the start of the Triwizard Tournament would serve as a bit of a distraction. As the day of the foreign schools' arrival had been drawing nearer, she could sense a shift of sorts at Hogwarts. There seemed to be a nervous and excited energy buzzing just below the surface.

Rumors were flying back and forth about who was entering, and bets were being placed on who was going to win. Gemma had heard a group of sixth-year girls prattling on about how they heard Cedric Diggory was going to enter and how they were sure he'd win if picked. Whilst she never paid much mind to gossip, Gemma couldn't help but agree with them. The boy was talented on and off the Quidditch pitch, and if she closed her eyes Gemma could almost picture him holding the cup above his head.

It didn't seem like Cedric was the type to lose at anything.

Alas, there was still a month until they'd find out just who the Hogwarts champion would be, which meant that Gemma was stuck in what seemed to have become her dull daily routine.

With a yawn, she stretched her arms above her head, twisting her body slightly as the tension in her muscles wained. It was getting late, and although dinner was long since finished, there was no point in rushing. Lazily she stood, bag tucked under her arm, as she began to make her way back through the library. As she walked, she casually lifted books to the shelves, to which they magically clung and slid back into their proper homes.

Once the full weight of her stack had been relieved, she ducked out into the hallway and began to make her way back toward the Gryffindor common room. There were still quite a few people out and about seeing as curfew was still a decent forty-five minutes away, and Gemma waved at a lingering Luna and Neville who were chatting with a few other Ravenclaws off to the side.

Stepping away from the group at the sight of her friend, Luna found herself at Gemma's side.

"Gemma, how are you?" Luna asked, looping their arms together so that Gemma came to halt in the middle of the corridor, "I haven't seen you around much more than the top of your head these past few weeks. Seems like you've always got your head stuck in a book."

Gemma smiled softly at the polite girl.

"I'm alright, just been busy with schoolwork," said Gemma, gripping the straps of her bag tighter at the white lie.

"I don't suppose you're headed in the direction of Gryffindor tower, are you?" Luna inquired, tilting her head.

"I was actually, why do you ask?" Gemma quirked an eyebrow.

"Oh, splendid! I was wondering if you'd be able to take this up to Professor Trelawney's office on your way? It's getting late, and I'm afraid it's on the opposite side of the castle from my dormitory. I promised I'd have it back to her by the end of the day," said Luna.

Only then did Gemma notice the small brown parcel clutched tightly in Luna's free hand. At first glance, Gemma thought it must've been a miniature crystal ball. Upon further inspection though, the strange package was lumpy, and tied together at the top with a piece of twine.

Deciding she wasn't in any particular hurry to get back and have Harry, Ron, and Hermione pester her about what she'd been doing, Gemma nodded in agreement.

"Of course," she held her hand out towards Luna.

"Are you sure? I don't mean to inconvenience you," said Luna, hesitantly dropping the odd object into Gemma's open palm.

"I don't mind," said Gemma, closing her fist around it.

It was deceptively heavy for its size.

"Brilliant, thank you so much, Gemma," Luna beamed, gripping Gemma's arm in gratitude, "I really appreciate it."

With a parting wave, Luna skipped back over towards where she previously stood, easily slipping back into conversation with her peers. Gemma turned and continued on her path down the hallway, except instead of taking a left up the stairs, she instead hung a right and began to make her way towards the Divination classroom.

Gemma, like Hermione, was not very fond of Divination. She preferred facts over predictions, especially half-witted ones that only ever spoke of doom and gloom. Harry was almost always coming back from class sulking, each time with a handful of new tales about how he was destined to die. Gemma was pretty sure that if Harry was supposed to die, he would've kicked the bucket already.

Seriously, the boy had cheated death too many times for it to be considered normal.

The castle creaked as she climbed, huffing slightly as she went. Sybil Trelawney's classroom was located at the very top of the Northmost tower which made it quite a hike to reach. Gemma was glad she didn't have to do the trek regularly like her classmates. When she finally crested the spiral stairs she was surprised she wasn't sweating. Gemma's eyes followed along the ceiling, stopping on the square outline of the trap door that served as the entrance to the classroom.

She came to stand directly underneath it, and after a few moments, the door instinctually slid itself open. The wood groaned, and a rickety ladder-like set of folding stairs unfurled, touching down with a hearty thud.

Still not sure what exactly it was Luna had entrusted her with delivering, Gemma assumed it was best not to drop it during her climb. Carefully, she tucked the parcel into the outermost pocket of her bag, double-checking it was nice and secure before turning back toward the unstable staircase. Grasping a rung just above her head, she hoisted herself up and began to ascend higher one step at a time.

Gemma's golden tresses were the first thing to emerge into the deserted classroom, her entire head following suit. She paused, half-in half-out of the hole in the floor as she looked around. Not a single soul was in sight, the only source of movement coming from the crackling fire that was always lit in the fireplace.

It was darker than the last time she'd been here, seeing as it was now evening, and it gave the entire room an even eery atmosphere than normal. The rows of tables and cushiony poufs were just barely visible amongst the shadows, and the thick, perfumed scent that always permeated the air hung heavily.

The mixture of darkness and smog was suffocating.

The only other source of light was coming from the large, crystalline ball that sat towards the front of the room, adjacent to the mantle. The first beams of moonlight were just beginning to filter through the windows, and they bounced off it's smooth, perfect surface in erratic patterns.

Seeing as she probably looked suspicious poking her head around this late, Gemma called out into the vacant space.

"Hello? Professor?"

Steady silence met her ears.

"Hello? Anyone here?"

Gemma frowned, and reluctantly deciding that she shouldn't just leave the package on the floor, pulled herself up all the way so that she was lying face-first on the floor of the classroom.

She hastily clambered to her feet, dusting off her robes as she looked around. It was as if an attic had met an old-fashioned tea shop, what with all the pots and cups lying around. Gemma walked further into the classroom, over toward the tiny, odd-looking desk in the corner. There were empty packets strewn across its surface, dried tea leaves scattered in miscellaneous piles. Gemma ran her finger through them, disturbing their random formations.

The curtains hanging over the floor-to-ceiling windows were just barely open, but the sliver of the grounds that was visible through them was shrouded in twilight. Her eyes caught again on the clear orb balancing on its gold-plated stand. Gemma wasn't sure if it was bad luck to touch a crystal ball. She'd dropped Divination before they'd gotten around to discussing the particular item.

She peered down into its milky center, watching as swirls of mist wound their way around each other in an entrancing dance. Around and around they went, pulling her deeper into their waltz.

Slowly, so much so that Gemma had to blink a few times to make sure she wasn't hallucinating, the twirls of smoke seemed to be turning a hazy blue. They almost appeared to flicker, like flames in the wind.

Gemma drew her face closer, so that her nose was nearly touching the polished ball's surface. The color of the flames seemed to intensify, their soft, baby blue transforming into electric cerulean. They licked at each other, rolling over one another in a blazing mass. In the center, as if being pieced back together from ashes, an odd shape began to emerge. It looked as if it had gaping, soulless eyes. In fact, it seemed as if there weren't any eyes at all. Just the sockets stared back up at Gemma through the flames, coating the floating skull.

And then, as if opening its mouth to scream, the skull's jaw unhinged.

Slithering through the smoke, the fuzzy form of a serpent began to pour from its imaginary throat. It coiled itself around the bone, and Gemma could swear she heard it hiss. It too, opened its mouth wide, fangs bared, beady eyes piercing her frightened ones.

Then it pounced, its jaws snapping closed over the entire image, engulfing the flames and skull in one large gulp.

Still, Gemma could not tear her eyes away.

The mist was now turning a muddled green, and thick black bars began to obstruct the view. The distinct shape of rolling hills and hedges found themselves struggling to stay clear, like watercolors trying to cling to wet paper. It was as if she was looking out a window, expanses of groomed fields spreading out past its panes. Gemma couldn't recognize the place, but she recognized the feeling it gave her.

Fear. Pure, unadulterated fear.

Suddenly, as if someone had snuffed out a candle, it was gone. All of it. The flames, the skull and snake, the rolling hills. Like they'd never been there in the first place. The crystal ball was back to it's blank and glittering sheen.

" _What did you see_?"

Gemma sprang backward, nearly toppling directly into Professor Trelawney, who had somehow managed to silently creep up behind her. It was surprising the eccentric witch hadn't drawn much attention to herself. Gemma was so immersed in the crystal she probably wouldn't have noticed if another sink had exploded.

She stared, still in shock, up at the Professor.

"What did you see?" Trelawney exclaimed again, this time taking up Gemma's hands in her own.

Her stacks of silver rings were sharp and cold against Gemma's palms which were slick with nervous sweat. Professor Trelawney grasped them tightly between hers, squeezing.

"Tell me, child."

Gemma opened her mouth, but only a strangled croaking sound made its way past her lips. She struggled to form a proper sentence as she choked out,

"Fire."

Professor Trelawney's eyes widened behind her oversized circular frames, and wordlessly she began guiding Gemma towards one of the armchairs that were arranged in front of the fireplace. The back of Gemma's knees hit the edge of the chair and she fell back into its plush cushions.

"Elaborate dear," said Professor Trelawney, still gripping Gemma's hands, "What did they look like? How did they behave?"

"Uh," Gemma cleared her throat, "They- they were blue. Bright blue. And flickering. Violently."

"Good, good, what else?"

"Um, then there was a skull, and a snake. It swallowed them. Both the skull and the flames," continued Gemma, trying to avoid Trelawney's intense gaze by staring at the discarded tea leaves.

"Yes, yes," the professor egged, gripping onto her even tighter.

"Then I saw a window," said Gemma, "Well, it was more like I was looking out of it. At fields."

"Is that all?" Trewlaney pushed, staring at her anxiously.

"Yes, that's all," Gemma mumbled uncomfortably.

The heavily scented air was starting to coat her lungs, and she felt as if she didn't leave soon she would surely faint.

"Interesting, very interesting."

Professor Trelawney let go of her abruptly, standing up and scurrying over to a tall chest of drawers on the far side of the room. She rummaged around them for a moment before pacing back and taking the seat across from Gemma again. From her folds of brightly colored robes and scarves, she pulled out a stack of intricately painted cards.

She spread them across the table, not bothering to clear the clutter that already was taking up most of it.

"Oh dear," Professor Trelawney murmured, a deep frown settling across her lips as she inspected the cards, "Oh dear, oh dear."

"What?" Gemma asked hesitantly, fiddling with one of the buckles on her bag that was still slung over her shoulders.

"I can see it here," Trelawney crooned, her voice scratchy, "Pain."

Gemma furrowed her brow, inhaling sharply.

"Suffering. Despair."

Professor Trelawney had a far, vacant look in her eye.

"Pain. Pain. Pain. So much pain."

Gemma was growing increasingly disturbed as she watched the woman in front of her begin to rock back and forth, still muttering to herself. Pain. Pain. So much pain.

Unable to take any more of it, Gemma stood quickly. She backed away from the deranged, fitting witch, her shoes making scuffing noises on the rotting floorboards as she shuffled towards the trap door. Her toe hit the rope-handle and she crouched down, eyes still trained on Professor Trelawney. She grasped the piece of rope, heaving the door open.

Gemma was just about to begin her sneaky descent when she remembered her reason for visiting in the first place. Hurriedly, she hesitantly crept back over toward the fire, digging around for the parcel in her bag. Trelawney was still muttering to herself, chanting in circles. Gemma lightly placed the package on the table, watching as the woman's eyes rolled back in her head.

Professor Trelawney shot out of her seat. Gemma tripped again, landing hard on the floor.

"Beware the new heir!" Trelawney cried, an otherworldly screech erupting out of her mouth.

And then she collapsed.

Gemma stared up at her in shock, mouth agape. She sat there for a moment, not sure her legs would work even if she tried. The cracking pops of the fire echoed in the silence. Soft snores began to filter from the now sleeping professor's lips, mixing into the sparking symphony.

Gemma, not wanting to wake her and still numb-limbed, slowly began to crawl towards the exit. Her robes snagged on stray nails as she crept her way back towards the still-open door. When she was only a meter or two away, she sprang as efficiently as possible to her feet, and ran.

Gemma descended the stairs in a flurry of panting breaths and prickling skin. Her body felt like it was burning up, her breaths coming in shallow drags. The moment her feet touched the stone floor of the spiral stairs, she took off. Down, down, down she went, sprinting as fast as she could from the North tower. Gemma wanted to get as far away from that sickly sweet scent and that wretched woman as possible. The pound of her footsteps along the corridor made a rhythm against the chanting in her head.

Pain. Pain. Pain.

She'd just rounded the corner into the Entrance Hall when she slammed full-on into something.

"What in the bloody hell?"

The bitter, cold voice of the one person that could make her current situation even worse spoke, clutching at the place where their heads had collided.

Gemma rubbed her own forehead, pinching her eyes shut.

"Is there a reason you're sprinting through the castle without bothering to look where your going? Or do you just enjoy taking up space?" Draco growled, using the nearest wall for leverage as he maneuvered his way back to his feet.

"I'm not in the mood, Malfoy," Gemma grumbled, staying seated.

A wave of exhaustion had hit her like a Bludger to the gut, a throbbing sensation starting to drum between her temples. Whether it was from the fiasco in the Divination classroom, or the run-in with Draco she wasn't sure.

Probably a bit of both.

She groaned, dropping her face to her bent knees.

"Are you just going to sit there?" Draco asked, looking down at her hunched form.

"So what if I am?"

He didn't seem to have anything to say to that. Instead, he asked her another question.

"Where are you coming from in such a hurry?"

"Malfoy, why do you care?" groaned Gemma, tilting her head back to stare inquisitively up at him.

His eyes narrowed back at her.

"I don't," he stated, "I just figured if I'm going to rat you out for being up past curfew, I should make sure my facts are right."

Gemma rolled her eyes, shaking her head as she braced herself to stand.

"Piss off."

Malfoy watched on as Gemma clumsily stood, noticing the way her cheeks were flushing with tiredness in the lamplight. She looked a mess. Something in his stomach pinched. His lip curled at the feeling.

Surely it was just disgust.

"Besides," Gemma continued, "You can't get me in trouble."

She began to move around him, walking closer to the stairs that would lead her back up towards the bed that was calling her name. Draco cocked his head questioningly.

"You're out past curfew as well," a small victorious smile painted her lips.

Gemma fully turned to take her leave, but his icy voice stopped her again.

"Actually, I have a note. From Professor McGonagall. For you."

Gemma swiveled. Now she was the one confused.

"I was instructed to owl you this." He held up an envelope in between his thumb and forefinger, brandishing it in the dim light of the hallway. He threw it in her direction harshly, piercing eyes watching as it landed lamely at her feet.

Gemma stooped down to pick it up, turning it over in her palm. Sure enough, Professor McGonagall's handwriting was clear and clean on the back, her name written across it. Gemma undid the seal, tugging out the piece of parchment delicately folded inside.

_Gemma,_

_Please report to the East Wing at 8 o'clock the next Wednesday. Madam Bixhorn will instruct you from there. Don't worry about the curfew, you will be exempt for the duration of your detention._

_Regards,_

_Professor McGonagall_

Gemma's gaze snapped back up to the steely gray one across from her in the hall. Draco was smirking as he saw the look on her face turn dark in agitation. Without another word he turned, stalking off back across the foyer towards the door that led to the dungeons and the Slytherins dormitories.

Gemma watched as he retreated, balling the letter up in her fist. She was just about to do the same when his voice echoed against the marble as he paused.

"I can always get you into trouble, Bane."

And then he disappeared into the darkness, slipping into the depths of the castle and leaving a fuming Gemma in his taunting wake.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> DISCLAIMER: 
> 
> I do not own any of the original Harry Potter characters, world, or plot. The stories and their livelihood belong to J.K. Rowling. Any characters, world-building, or plotlines that diverge from the original books alternatively are mine.
> 
> This story is also posted on Wattpad under the same username 'lacedpink'. Both of these accounts are owned by me. Any other postings are not authorized unless explicitly stated.


	8. Abditory

**_Chapter 8_ **  
**_ABDITORY_ **

_abditory_  
_(n.) a place to which you can disappear; a hiding place_

**THE** familiar screeching cry of the mail owls echoed across the expansive ceiling of the Great Hall on Wednesday morning. Streaks of Autumn sunlight lit up their wings as the masses of feathers darted back and forth. They swooped up and down, delivering their letters and parcels to outstretched hands in flashes of white, brown, and grey.

Harry watched anxiously as they ducked through the open-paned windows, fingers crossed over one another. Hermione placed her hand over his fidgeting ones, clasping them reassuringly beneath her palm.

"He'll write soon, Harry. I know he will," she said, trying to give him the most boisterous smile she could.

Harry gave her a tight-lipped tilt back. Gemma and Ron gave each other sidelong glances, attempting to look just as hopeful as Hermione. Harry had been tense all week, still not having heard back from Sirius since his last letter. Every day when the mail arrived, his friends could see the semi-permanent crease of his brow furl even more. It was difficult to watch, and Gemma couldn't help but to wish there was something any of them could do.

Unfortunately, all there was to do was wait.

Even their fellow peers could sense something was wrong with Harry and had taken up to trying to raise his spirits whenever they could.

"Hey! Hey, guys look," Seamus shouted over the chatter of the hall as he came rushing down the long aisle between the house tables.

He had a scroll of parchment clutched in his fists and was waving it wildly above his head. Sliding into the seat between Ron and Neville, Seamus slapped the flyer down on the wooden surface, grinning breathlessly. Curious at what could've possibly had Seamus so excited this early in the morning, the fourth-year Gryffindors all craned their necks to get a look at the black ink.

" _Officially Unofficial Quidditch Match. October 24th on the pitch at Midnight_ ," Ron read, eyes widening as he went, " _Hosted by Fred and George Weasley._ Bloody hell!"

"Let me see that," Hermione snatched the paper from under the boy's noses, her and Gemma hunching over to see what else it said, " _All team practices are to be held in secret, opponents will be announced the day of."_

Hermione looked up bewildered.

"Are they insane? They could get expelled for this!"

"Oh, come on Hermione. Everyone's bored waiting for this stupid tournament to start. It's just a Quidditch match," Ron grumbled, shaking his head at her cautiousness.

"Yes, an _unofficial_ Quidditch match. What if someone gets hurt? There won't be any supervision."

"Yes there will be," added Seamus.

"Who?" Hermione asked, annoyed at the flippancy of her classmates.

"Us," came two voices, perfectly in sync.

All six heads whipped around to the tall set of twins, each grinning widely with their arms folded across their chests. Their red hair was almost identical in shade and cut to Ron's, and it clashed in its usual way with the maroon of their robes.

"You two don't count as supervision," said Hermione.

"We're super," said Fred.

"And we have excellent vision," George piped in, snatching Harry's glasses off his nose and putting them on.

George laughed as he squinted through the round lenses. Fred snatched the paper out of Hermione's clenched fingers, holding it against his chest.

"Now, if you'll excuse us, we need to go spread the word," said Fred.

George handed Harry back his glasses, and then he and Fred retreated down the table towards Angelina and the older Gryffindors to inform them of the covert match.

"I'm going," said Ron.

"You can't be serious," whined Hermione, mouth agape.

"There's nothing else to do at this bloody school without Quidditch. At least, not until the end of the month," Ron countered, taking a bite of the cold potatoes that had been abandoned on his plate. Seamus nodded in agreement.

"Harry?" Hermione asked, glancing at the boy across from her hopefully.

Harry straightened his glasses, pushing them farther up so that sat centered again.

"I think it sounds fun," he answered, a slow smile spreading across his face as he exchanged looks with Ron, "You know how much I miss it, Hermione."

Hermione groaned in agitation, her hands doing a path through her tangled hair as she sighed. Her eyes met Gemma's questioningly. Gemma bit her lip, knowing her friend wasn't going to like what she had to say.

"I do think it could be fun," said Gemma, fingernails nervously tapping the table, a sheepish expression on her face.

Exasperated, Hermione let out a huff, slamming her textbooks down on the table. Everyone jumped slightly at the impact, Neville narrowly stopping his goblet from tipping over as the silverware rattled.

"Fine, then," said Hermione, "But don't come to me when you all get thrown out of Hogwarts for a silly game of Quidditch."

With that, the curly-haired girl stood from the bench, swung her bag over her shoulder, and marched out of the Great Hall without even a glance backward.

"She does know we're going to be seeing her for Defense Against the Dark Arts in less than ten minutes, right?" asked Ron, who was pointing after Hermione's retreating figure.

Gemma, Seamus, Harry, and Neville all shrugged, turning back to their unfinished meals.

Gemma poked at the sad pieces of toast in front of her.Whilst the news of the officially unofficial Quidditch match had brightened her spirits slightly, her impending detention with Draco was hovering over her head like a menacing rain cloud.

Instinctively, she glanced over towards the Slytherin table, searching for that stark hair and those hunched shoulders. To her relief, it appeared that Draco and his companions had either already left their table, or perhaps hadn't even shown for breakfast at all. Who knew what Slytherins did in the morning anyway?

Probably brewed poisonous potions and killed babies. Just as refreshing as yoga.

The remainder of breakfast was spent quietly conversing about the match, and who was going to play who. Gemma smiled and nodded along as her friends chatted, but she couldn't help the slight sinking feeling in her chest. Sure, she was excited as well, but Harry was still the team Seeker. Which meant she'd spend another cold night in the stands, cheering him on, but wishing more than anything it was her out there. She could almost feel the biting wind against her cheeks, as her hand reached for the blur of the Snitch.

The clang of the bells snatched away the wistful image, and Gemma blinked, shaking away the momentary daydream.

Along with the rest of the students, she gathered up her belongings and began to make her way out of the Great Hall. They shuffled along the corridors, meandering in different directions towards their designated classrooms.

Harry and Ron flanked Gemma, Seamus and Neville walking up ahead as they discussed something Gemma couldn't quite hear. When they finally arrived at Professor Moody's classroom, there were only a few stragglers still milling about the hallways.

The three of them pushed inside, making their way to their desks hurriedly. Hermione was already seated in the chair adjacent to Gemma's, her nose buried in her book, her nose still scrunched in annoyance. Gemma sighed as she sat down, opening her mouth to say something to her disgruntled friend, but the clang of the door banging open silenced her.

Professor Moody limped in, his scarred face darting around as he presumably took a mental note of attendance. His magic eye observing the array of students even as his back was turned. When he reached the front of the classroom, he hoisted the long, hefty staff in his hand and brought it slamming down against the bottom of the blackboard.

All fifty kids jumped in shock, the blackboard spinning a few times before coming to a swinging halt. Even Hermione looked up from her book, startled. Written across the top of the board in messy, white chalk was a word. 

_Imperio._

Moody leaned the staff against his desk, rubbing his scarred hands together roughly a few times. 

"Today," his voice came out harsh and scratchy against the stone walls, "You will be learning how to resist the Imperius Curse."

Surprised gasps filled the room, the murmurs building.

"I doubt any of you will be able to do it," continued their professor, "In fact, it would be a miracle. But, the important part is that you try."

He picked up a piece of chalk and turning to face the board wrote out three more sentences just below the curse.

" _Resist. Resilience. Remember,"_ he hit the black surface with his wand for emphasis as he spoke each word aloud, "These are the three key components to fighting the effects of this curse. First, we have resist. Seems self-explanatory, doesn't it?"

A wave of nods greeted his question in return.

"But, it is easier to forget than you might think. The whole purpose of this curse is to make you _want_ to do what the caster tells you. You don't think to fight it, because why would you? You want to be doing what they're telling you. You'll be rewarded for doing what they tell you. At least, that's what they want you to believe."

Gemma shuddered at Moody's words. The idea of having someone else inside your head sounded horrible.

"When you're under the control of someone else, it is easy for our minds to want to give in. That is why it is important to resist it, resist that want. And once you remember to resist, you then must be resilient. Just because you remember to fight, doesn't mean it's going to be easy. You have to keep pushing, or the tide will pull you right back under again."

As if to prove his point, Professor Moody conjured a small, metal basin of water with a wave of his wand. The water frothed against the sides in a swirling motion, a whirlpool pulling at its center.

"When you want to get out of a riptide, you don't swim straight to shore," a tiny, wooden model of a sailboat appeared in the basin, cresting the miniature waves.

With a flick of his wand, the boat attempted to fight against the current, but it was dragged back helplessly towards the darkening center.

"You swim sideways."

The boat tipped to the left, heading parallel to the side of the basin. It was almost free of the raging waters when suddenly it shot backward, disappearing straight down the center of the whirlpool.

"And sometimes, the rip drags you under anyway. But the funny thing about drowning, in comparison to other ways of dying, is that it takes awhile. It's not quick, like a gunshot. Or unexpected like a bomb. It's slow. You're aware of what's going on. It lets you think back on life and all the decisions you made that led up to that point right there, with your lungs filled with water and your eyes clouding over. You think of all the good, all the bad, all the things you haven't done, all the things you don't want to leave behind. And those memories, those are your life raft. Those are the things that can make the difference between hitting the bottom of the ocean, and resurfacing."

Professor Moody rounded his desk, coming to lean back against its edge, arms folding over his chest as he locked eyes with each and every one of his students.

"When you're drowning, and it feels like there's no hope, allow yourself to remember."

With a sharp clap, the weight of his words lifted slightly, everyone in the cramped classroom drawing shaky inhales. Gemma glanced over at Hermione who's glistening waterlines gave her the very-likely impression that her friend was close to crying.

Professor Moody, stood up, a sneaky smile on his mangled lips.

"Now, let's see who of you thinks they can swim."

As if by the power of his words alone, the class seemed to shrink back into their seats, no one wanting to willingly volunteer. Gemma's feet were itching in her loafers, and the robes seemed to be itching at her neck. Everyone held their breath as Moody's magic eye scanned over them.

Gemma felt her heart sink beneath her stomach as it locked onto her bright green ones.

"Gemma Bane," said Moody, "Let's see what you got."

It was as if she was the lion at a circus, as she stood achingly slow from her seat and began to make her way to the front of the room. Her robes nipped at her ankles, and the warm flesh of Hermione's hand gave her wrist a gentle squeeze of reassurance as she passed. Gemma paused at the bottom of the stairs below Professor Moody, gaze trained on the rickety floorboards.

"Good," said her professor, coming down to stand beside her, "Now, I won't make you do anything embarrassing or harmful, although that would be more entertaining," he gave a hearty chuckle, which was met with blank stares and unamused silence.

"I will ask you to do a simple task, and I want you to try and fight it, you understand?"

Gemma gave a wordless nod, tugging at the ends of her hair nervously. Moody took a few steps back so that he could extend his wand in front of him without taking her eye out.

"Face the class, and let me know when you're ready," said Professor Moody, wand trained on Gemma's torso.

Closing her eyes, Gemma took a deep breath. How hard could it really be? Exhaling, she nodded again.

Gemma barely had time to register that he'd cast the curse at all before she felt the force of it in her gut. It wasn't painful. In fact, it was almost warm, like a hug wrapping around her insides. It climbed through her spine, reaching down the length of her limbs, and finely as it coated the edges of her mind.

Calm, Gemma felt calm. But only for a second. There was a buzzing noise, at the base of her skull. It was festering, tickling the inside of her temples.

_Eat the apple._

Gemma frowned. 

_Eat the apple._

There it was again. The same command. 

_Eat the apple._

It sounded better that time. More appealing. She liked apples.

Eyes still clenched shut, she felt her fingers twitch. _No._ It wasn't her. Someone else wanted her to do this, and for that reason alone, she knew she shouldn't.

Gemma stilled her fingers, gritting her teeth. The words _resist_ and _resilience_ danced across her blackened vision. She wouldn't eat the apple.

_Eat it._

No.

_Eat it._

No!

_Eat it._

NO!

It was like she was screaming, but no words were coming out. She could feel it, feel the want in her. It would be so much easier if she just listened. Around and around her thoughts chased each other, just like the water in the whirlpool. It was unbearable, the heaviness in her chest, the ache to just do what she was told. Gemma gasped, trying to take in more air, but all that filled her airways was words.

_Eat. Eat. Eat. Eat. Eat._

Ice cold water, a frozen lake, it was as if she was emerging from its depths. Gemma's eyes snapped open, disoriented at what she saw. Rows of desk legs looked back at her, shoe-clad feet tapping against the floor.

She was on the floor.

Gemma could hear people trying to talk to her, but everything sounded fuzzy to her clogged mind. Things started to realign as her vision cleared, she clenched her robes in her fists.

The Imperius Curse, she was trying to fight the curse. Is that why she was on the floor? 

She tried to concentrate on the voices above her, most likely asking if she was ok, but they were processing like static in her brain. A flash of red in her peripheral caught Gemma's gaze. She glanced over, heart-squeezing.

Lying beside her on the floor was a round, ruby red apple, a large bite taken out of its side.

She'd failed.

Embarrassment flooded Gemma's cheeks, and she found herself struggling to stand. Hands were grasping at her forearms, trying to lift her up.

Bright eyes. Harry's.

Wild curls. Hermione's.

Ratty robes. Ron's.

Empty seat. Draco's.

Gemma blinked repeatedly, jerking herself away from her friends. She didn't want to be helped, touched. She just wanted to get out of there.

Before Professor Moody, or anyone else could object, she foggily stumbled over to her seat, grabbed her bag, and walked straight out the door. She knew she probably looked drunk, the floor seeming to move in front of her as she walked, but she didn't care. Climbing the stairs two at a time, Gemma wound her way up through the castle, further and further from the dank Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom.

She needed light, air, needed to breathe clearly without anything blocking her throat.

She emerged into the deserted Astronomy Tower exhausted, her breaths coming in quick pants. Gemma held a hand to her throat, clawing at it as if it would release some of the strangulation she felt there. Clumsily, she stumbled over towards the far railing, looking out over the silent grounds.

It was midday, but the streams of sunlight that had filtered their way in over breakfast were long gone, having been replaced with a dull and dreary overcast sky. Gemma found it more appropriate for her mood anyway.

She leaned her head against the polished wooden bar her hands were resting on, letting its silky smooth coolness embrace her heated skin. It felt as if she hadn't slept in weeks, even though she knew perfectly well she'd gotten eight hours the night before.

Gemma couldn't help but wonder if this was what Harry felt when he faced the dementors. Whilst she may not have fainted, Harry was always incredibly exhausted after his encounters with the Azkaban guards, and Gemma was sure she'd never been so tired in her whole life. Her legs deciding they couldn't bear her weight anymore, Gemma crumbled ungracefully to the floor slumping against the bars that kept her from tipping to her death below.

A weird sensation was winding around her ribcage, nudging her heart. The only way she could think to describe it was unadulterated defeat. She'd failed, she'd let Professor Moody mess around inside her mind. And if there was one thing Gemma hated more than anything, it was being controlled.

Gemma felt her vision dusting black at the edges, her consciousness slipping in and out as she tried to alert. She wasn't going to bother attending the rest of her lessons, wasn't even sure if she'd make it to dinner. Her eyes fluttered dizzily, trying to latch onto anything that would keep her awake. A round, bobbing white light bounced up and down, occupying her retina as she followed its path across the tower as it neared her.

She stared up at it as it came to a halt above her. Had to blink a few times to make sure she wasn't hallucinating.

"Get up, Bane. You look pathetic."

Gemma rubbed at her lashes again as Draco's face came into focus. He was staring down at her, hands pocketed deep in his robes. He had his typical snarky look of nonchalance plastered on his face, but the way his eyes darted over the planes of her cheekbones gave her a sense of calm. 

She wasn't sure why, but she knew he didn't actually come just to pick a fight.

"How did you find me?" mumbled Gemma, almost raspy.

"I wasn't looking for you," he bit back, "You intruded on my hiding spot."

As if to prove his point, he glanced over his shoulder to the other side of the tower where his backpack was lying against the wall, indicating he'd been there long before she'd arrived. Gemma rolled her eyes, but found it to be too much effort and decided to close them altogether, letting her head hit the railing again and giving her neck a break.

"Well, maybe you should get a better one, then. If you don't want to be found so easily."

Draco just shook his head, looking as if he was either five seconds from clocking Gemma in the face, or throwing himself off the Astronomy Tower. But, to her surprise, the Slytherin did neither of those things, and instead bent at the knees and slid to sit alongside her.

He was still a decent few meters away, knees bent, forearms resting over them. He kept his gaze trained on the horizon, and Gemma watched as he furrowed his brows as if he wasn't sure if he wanted to ask the question she knew he was wondering.

"So, why are you up here, Bane? Potter break up with you?"

Gemma couldn't help but crack a small smile at his dig. Normally, his joking about her and Harry would annoy her, but at the moment Gemma was just thankful he wasn't looking at her like everyone else had been in class.

Like she was weak.

"No, no. We're engaged, actually. I'm up here because he said he didn't want lilacs in the bouquets. Figured I might as well jump while I still have the chance," she inclined her head towards the extremely far ground below.

"Lilacs? It's Potter that should be jumping," Draco grumbled, still not looking at her.

Gemma let out a lazy laugh, eyes crinkling.

"What's wrong with lilacs?" she asked.

He didn't answer, just continued to stare out over the grass. Gemma sighed.

The two just sat there, not saying anything, as the clouds rolled in thick and grey. The scent of rain on the wind was growing stronger as the minutes passed, and Gemma guessed it would be full-on storming by the time dinner rolled around.

"You'd be absolutely shit at it," Gemma spoke suddenly, breaking the silence.

"At what?" asked Draco, furrowing his brow in confusion, still facing the fields.

"At Hide and Seek," said Gemma.

"Do I even want to know what the bloody hell that is?" said Draco in a gruff, agitated tone.

"It's a Muggle game, usually kids play it. Everyone hides except for one person, and that person is it. They count, and once everyone's hidden, they look for them. The last one to be found wins the game."

"That sounds like rubbish," Draco said, kicking at one of the rungs in front of him. The piece of wood splintered a bit at the impact.

"It's actually pretty fun, I played it with my younger brother once," Gemma continued, longing settling in her chest at the mention of her family.

"But sometimes, if you're hiding place is too good, you're never found. And everyone goes back to playing tag or other games, and you're stuck, all alone. Waiting to see if anyone will seek you out, or if you'll have to find your way back on your own."

"What if you don't want to be found?"

Draco's words seemed to echo across the tower, bouncing in the rafters. Gemma had never thought about that before.

The entire point of playing games was to win.

"Everyone want's to be found," she said, taking in his side profile illuminated against the grey sky, "Otherwise, life would be pretty lonely."

Her words were met with silence, but she could see the way he shifted his shoulders, cracked his neck.

No one wanted to be alone, she was sure of it.

Not even Draco Malfoy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> DISCLAIMER: 
> 
> I do not own any of the original Harry Potter characters, world, or plot. The stories and their livelihood belong to J.K. Rowling. Any characters, world-building, or plotlines that diverge from the original books alternatively are mine.
> 
> This story is also posted on Wattpad under the same username 'lacedpink'. Both of these accounts are owned by me. Any other postings are not authorized unless explicitly stated.


	9. Malignity

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is dedicated to @Glitter_butt on Wattpad for being the sweetest soul and reminding me why I love writing. To make others happy.

**_Chapter 9_ **   
**_MA_** **_LIGNITY_ **

**_malignity_ **  
_(_ _n.) the state or character of being malign; malevolence; intense ill will or spite_

**DRACO** watched as a droplet of rain landed on the wooden floorboard in front of him, soaking up the water almost immediately as if it was never there in the first place.

_Everyone wants to be found._

Gemma's words clung to the silence that fell over the two of them. Draco could feel her eyes boring into the side of his head, as if her stare was the key to unlocking the complex puzzle that was his mind. He cracked his neck in irritation, keeping his focus trained on the rolling hills of the castle grounds in front of him. Of course the stupid witch tried to make a silly Muggle game into some sort of falsely deep analysis. He almost scoffed at her naivety.

Games were for children.

Gemma let out a huff, and he knew she'd turned back to observe the view as well. He ground his teeth, still annoyed at her for interrupting his escapade. He'd skipped Defense Against the Dark Arts to purposefully avoid the annoying girl now sitting next to him, knowing he was going to be forced to be in her presence later on that day. That, and the annoying sound of Weasley's voice was enough to make him want to jump from the very tower he was sitting in.

Draco had been suffering from a major headache all morning, not even bothering to attempt to make it to breakfast. He'd barely gotten any sleep, dreams he was glad he couldn't remember keeping him from slipping into a slumber. The decision to not attend his classes had been made before the sun came up, and as soon as he'd managed to pull on some clothes and slip from the Slytherin dormitories, he made his way up to the only place he knew could potentially soothe the throbbing between his temples.

The Astronomy Tower had been Draco's go-to hideout since he was a first year. Unless there was a class being held under the doming ceiling, it was rare anyone else found their way up to the out-of-the-way observatory. The mid-October air was always crisp and cool, the perfect sedative for the dull tension that wrapped around the base of Draco's neck. That paired with the blissful quiet and not-horrendous view was almost what he would consider peaceful. Although, he would never admit it out loud.

Still, he found himself climbing the familiar winding stairs to the tower whenever he needed to escape the scrutinizing eyes of his classmates. It _usually_ helped, when he went uninterrupted.

He glanced at briefly at Gemma, whose untamed hair was whipping wildly against her cheeks as a result of the increasing pace of the wind. His brows set low on their own accord, that familiar pinch of disgust nipping at his abdomen. Draco didn't think it was possible for him to loathe someone more than the wretched girl. Sure, he hated Potter. Couldn't stand Weasley. And Granger was about annoying as it could get.

But Bane, that girl was something else entirely.

She'd turned him into a bloody ferret for Merlin's sake.

No matter what he said, no matter how hard he pushed her, she fought back. And maybe that's what bothered him so much. The others got these looks on their faces when he insulted them, looks of defeat, hurt. Satisfying looks that brought him amusement. When he insulted Gemma, though, it did something different. It almost seemed to fuel something in her, something that when prodded enough had the potential to burst. Draco had witnessed it on multiple occasions, and he couldn't help the overwhelming sense of agitation when instead of cowering in the corner to cry like the others, she yelled back, berating him just as much.

His life would be so much better if she just shut up. 

Draco glanced at the watch fastened over his left wrist, the pounding in his head not helping his ability to read the small numbers. It was nearing dinnertime, and seeing as he didn't think Gemma was going to be leaving anytime soon, he figured he'd get a head start to the Great Hall. Salvage a few moments away from her aggravating aura before he was forced into her presence again for their shared detention. Draco's father had yet to respond to his letter, and so for the time being he had to comply with the ridiculous punishment.

Bending his knees, Draco hauled himself off the tower floor, straightening out his robes as he did so and reaching for his discarded bag. He didn't spare Gemma another glance before stalking past her and back down towards the stairs. Passing her still hunched form, Draco had to physically restrain himself from giving a swift kick into the middle of her back that would surely send her tumbling to the ground below.

As he descended the stairs back into the castle, the only thing he could think of was how her blood would make a sickeningly satisfying painting on the canvased earth. 

__

Only when the splattering rain and nipping air finally reached into her extremities, turning her toes and fingers numb, did Gemma rise from her huddled position on the Astronomy Tower floor.

She begrudgingly made her way back through the halls, avoiding the eyes of classmates as she headed in the direction of the Gryffindor common room. Her appetite was nonexistent, and the thought of having to face her friends was even more unappealing. She didn't know when she'd become afraid to tell them things, and she couldn't help the slightly ashamed feeling that gnawed at the bottom of her ribcage.

She should be able to confide in them, they were some of the most understanding people she'd ever met in her life. Yet every time she thought about disclosing something that was bothering her, she found herself clamming up. They had enough to worry about without her adding her own nonsensical, unimportant problems on top of them.

Gemma knew her friends cared about her, but there were times she couldn't help but feeling as if she was the clunky fourth wheel. An unnecessary addition that just got in the way.

She wasn't as powerful as Harry, or as strong as Ron, or as smart as Hermione. Sure, she'd helped them aid Sirius and Buckbeak in their escape, but the three of them had a bond she didn't think she'd ever truly be a part of. They'd fought Voldemort together twice, spent years together at Hogwarts before she'd arrived. No matter how much they tried to include her, Gemma could feel the invisible barrier that only shared time and trauma could break through.

She shook her head as she pushed mumbled the password and stepped through the open portrait hole. She was being silly.

Emerging into the decently full common room, a bright red head of hair caught Gemma's eye almost immediately, and she found herself pulling up a chair at the deep mahogany table. Ginny glanced up from her parchment, smiling.

"Hi Gemma!" she said.

"Hi Ginny, why aren't you at dinner?" Gemma asked, tilting her head slightly in question.

Ginny nodded towards the expanse of inky words blotting her paper, glancing at the towering stack of textbooks to her left.

"Potions."

Gemma laughed lightly in acknowledgment.

"What about you? Why are you up here? Harry, Ron, and Hermione went down ages ago."

"Not very hungry," responded Gemma, fidgeting fingers playing with the hem of her robe sleeves.

Ginny's brows drew together, worry clearly marking her features as she set down her quill and turned to fully face Gemma.

"Are you alright? You've seemed distant lately. You're always in the library or shut up in your room studying."

Gemma grimaced. She knew she hadn't exactly been subtle with her research. She should've known her friends were going to start catching on—how long could an extra credit paper really take?

The glow of the fire across the room drew her anxious gaze as she shrugged, trying to avoid Ginny's wide, concerned eyes.

"Yea," Gemma sighed, "Yea, I'm fine. Just, lots of work this year I guess. That on top of my detention with Malfoy has kept me pretty busy."

"Oh, I forgot about that," exclaimed Ginny, "How is that going? I can't even imagine having to spend time with that miserable bloke."

"It's going exactly as you would expect," said Gemma, "Awful. We've been getting the spare dormitories ready, since after the bathroom disaster Madam Bixhorn won't let us within one-hundred meters of one. He barely helps, only talks when it's to insult me or my family, and ninety-nine percent of the time I'm considering suffocating him with the pillowcases."

"I mean, it is Malfoy. I'd want to kill him too," said Ginny.

"I know," Gemma trailed off, tilting her head back so that she was tracing the beams of the ceiling.

The striking of the bells signaling the hour sounded muffled within the thick walls of the tower, and only when she heard the eighth strike did Gemma realize she was late.

"Shoot, speaking of, duty calls," she said, rising from her seat. Ginny gave her hand a squeeze, picking up her quill again.

"Good luck, try not to commit murder."

Gemma grinned cheekily, her spirits significantly higher after her disastrous class earlier in the day.

"No promises."

Hastily, Gemma took her leave, darting through the halls towards the East Wing. The post-dinner rush did not aid in her journey, and by the time she reached the correct corridor she was practically gasping for breath.

Draco's face was impassive as she approached, not even bothering to acknowledge her arrival. Before she could even open her mouth to ask where Madam Bixhorn was, the old witch came waddling out from a doorway just past Draco's shoulder. She was holding two long poles with spears on the end in one hand, the other gripping a pair of black rubbish bags. As she neared Gemma and Draco, she cleared her throat, thrusting the tools towards them.

"Here, take these," she said, looking at them impatiently, "Go on."

Gemma eyed the weird device as she gripped it, its weight surprisingly light in her hand. Draco practically snatched the other from Madam Bixhorn's outstretched hands.

"Tonight you will be heading down to the lake. The lightning eels have just gone through breeding season, and with the arrival of some of our guests via boats, we cannot risk them striking their vessel. Setting them on fire is not a very nice welcome," Madam Bixhorn explained, "Now, no magic as usual, although you may use your wands for light."

Gemma nodded at her words, still toying with the spear in her hand.

Draco said nothing.

"Very well then, off you go. You can leave the supplies with Hagrid when you are finished."

Without bothering to see if he would follow, Gemma started off back the way she came, towards the Entrance Hall and the large, oak doors that would lead them outside and to the Black Lake. Their footsteps echoed through the empty corridors, the torchlight making the pointy heads of their poles glint sharply.

When they emerged through the heavy doors onto the silent grounds, Gemma couldn't help but smile at the sight. The moon cast beautiful shadows over the trees, and the rocks near the shore seemed to glisten under the rays. No one could deny that Hogwarts was absolutely breathtaking, especially at night.

They maneuvered their way down the hill, the darkness making it slightly difficult to see where they were going. Gemma had to catch herself as she stumbled over a divot in the ground, sending a glare over her shoulder at Draco's not subtle scoff. Gemma muttered a whispered _Lumos_ before continuing.

Finally, the pair came to a stop at the edge of the lake, looking out over its obsidian-like surface. It was eerily still, not even a single ripple breaking its glassy sheen. The mountains in the distance reflected off of it like a mirror, an inky smear in the water. The only thing breaking up the serenity was the occasional flash of light from beneath the tame waves. The tell-tale flicker of the lightning eels' electrical spark gave way to their location as they darted back and forth amongst each other.

Gemma stepped closer to the bank, peering over to try and get a better look. The creatures were nearly as long as Gemma was tall, and had thick, slimy black bodies. They didn't appear to have any eyes, or visibly defined heads. The only distinct feature was the pulsating orb that seemed to glow beneath their skin, the source of their electricity.

Unlike electric eels known to Muggles, though, the strike of a lightning eel was equivalent to the strike of a thousand lightning bolts. It was enough to not only kill a person, but to turn them completely to ash. They were extremely hazardous, and normally served as a good source of protection from unwanted creatures inhabiting the expansive lake.

"Alright," Gemma spoke, "I suppose we have to stab and extract their electric pouches and place them in these bags."

Her words were met with silence. Gemma turned towards Draco, who was leaning casually up against a big boulder, spear discarded on the ground at his feet. He had something in his hand, and was folding and unfolding it repeatedly. Crossing her arms, Gemma stomped over towards him.

"Would you quit fooling around so we can get started? I don't know about you, but I don't fancy being out here all night."

Draco simply ignored her, his fingers bending and creasing the bit of parchment over and over.

"Hello?" She tried again, puffing out her cheeks in agitation.

Nothing.

Gemma grumbled, turning back to the lake and stepping closer to the edge.

Oh, how good it would feel to through him in.

Raising her spear so it was angled towards the water, Gemma kept her eyes trained for signs of movement. A flash of light in her peripheral had her sending the spear slicing through the water and directly into the end of an eel. Grinning triumphantly, she yanked back, successfully pulling the electrified organ from its jelly-like body. The light became dimmer, until the blob was completely dark and no longer dangerous. She shook it off the end of the pole and into the bag.

One down, a bloody fucking lot to go.

After about thirty minutes of fishing, without any help from her apparently preoccupied detention partner who was still folding the same piece of parchment, Gemma had pretty much cleared the immediate bank. Picking up the slightly heavy bag of internal eel parts, she lugged her way further down towards where Draco was still perched against the rocks. A cluster of eels was swimming just below the make-shift cliff, about five or six based on the flickering.

Sending an annoyed huff towards the unbothered boy, Gemma leaned her spear next to him and gripped one of the rocks, pulling herself up on top of its rugged surface so that she now was directly over the remaining eels. She grabbed her weapon and carefully made her way over towards the edge. Just as she had before, Gemma waited for the flash of light before sending her spear into the eels one at a time.

She'd managed to catch all but one, it seeming to have disappeared into the pitch abyss. She kept her eyes peeled, crouching in wait. Gemm shivered at the breeze blowing off the lake, a fine mist settling in her lashes as she blinked it away. Luckily her school robes were managing to keep her relatively warm, otherwise, she was sure she'd catch a cold.

Another fifteen minutes passed, and there was still no sign of the remaining eel. Frustrated she spared a glance over at Draco, whose head was barely visible, stark white strands just peaking over the side of the boulder. His creamy skin gave him almost a ghostlike look as he stood nonchalantly in the dark.

"What are you doing?" Gemma called over the wind.

For a moment, she assumed he was going to ignore her again. But then, his icy voice floated up and over the waves.

"Trying to figure out how to make you falling in seem like an accident," Draco's response came, biting.

Gemma rolled her eyes even though he couldn't see her face.

"Ha ha," she mused sarcastically, "I meant with that stupid piece of paper."

"Drafting your suicide note," he answered.

Gemma was about to yell back her retort when a flicker caught her eye. Leaning forward, she picked up her spear again, ready to send it flying.

She paused, watching. Keeping her gaze locked on the spot she last saw the light, Gemma inhaled, holding her breath. As soon as the flash of the eel echoed throughout the water, Gemma threw her arm forward with all the force she could muster. Except for this time, instead of the spear coming out easily, it seemed to get stuck in the eel's slimy body.

Gemma yelped as it began thrashing, trying to keep a grip on the wooden handle. She could feel it happening even before she realized she was falling, and with a scream, she braced herself for the impact of the arctic water as she crashed through its surface and into the Black Lake.

It was like being swallowed by a black hole, cold and dark. Gemma thrashed around, panic clawing up her throat as she was held underwater by her heavy robes. Fear coursed through her veins, knowing the eel was still very much alive and very close. The water seemed to pull her deeper, its slender fingers tugging her downwards.

Somewhere to her right, she saw a flash of light, and she opened her mouth to cry out again, only to receive a lungful of murky water. She fumbled for her wand that she knew was tangled somewhere deep in her robes, trying to find the familiar curves of its handle.

She was going to die in that lake, with Draco Malfoy of all people, being the last person she saw.

But then, finally, she felt it. Her wand. Struggling to untangle it from the swirling masses of cloth, Gemma finally managed to free it from her uniform. With a few muttered words she felt herself being propelled upwards, until she burst through the surface, gulping in as much oxygen as she could get in her lungs.

Scrambling, she clutched at the rocks, using all the strength she had to pull herself up and out of the water again. She lay on her stomach, choking and vomiting up water as her body tried to reestablish it's water to air ratio. She was panting, gasping for breath. And then she heard it.

Laughing.

Gemma felt her mouth gaping as she watched Draco shake his head at her, still folding that damned piece of paper, anger coursing through her chilled bones.

"What the bloody fuck are you laughing at? I could've died just then. Did you even think to help me?" She rasped out, trying her best to sit up.

Draco's eyes turned to her as he took in her water-logged appearance, an amused smirk soaking his features. He paused what he was doing, appearing to finally be done with whatever it was he was making. Holding it up in front of his face, Gemma could see it was a small sculpture. The stark white of the paper crane taunted her like the flash of the eels.

"Funny, you think I care about your life enough to risk my own. "

Gemma looked at him absolutely stunned.

Draco Malfoy was evil. Purely, viciously, relentlessly evil.

Struggling, Gemma managed to crawl her way over towards the edge of the rock, shakily sliding off so that she stood on the grass in front of him again. She stared at him, sharp and severe, and he stared back just as cold. There was not an ounce of remorse, an inkling of guilt. It was like staring into the lake itself.

Empty, void, nothingness.

Gemma sighed, tearing her gaze away. Something was so deeply wrong with that boy. So broken, she wasn't sure if it could ever be repaired. The pulsating in her head derived from her extended lack of oxygen was mind muddling, and she was too exhausted to play detective.

Some mysteries are best left that way. Unsolved.

Gemma's arms felt weighed down by her heavy wet robes as she limply raised them, letting them slap against her sides again. The wind bit into her skin, prickling at her flesh with icy pangs.

Deciding it was worth the potentially angry Madam Bixhorn, Gemma cast a quick drying charm on herself, the cold heaviness easing immediately. At least that way she wouldn't have to make the soggy walk of shame back up the castle.

"How is it I always end up wet when I'm around you?" Gemma mumbled to herself, tucking her wand back into her robes without thinking.

Only when she met Draco's cheeky gaze did she feel her cheeks heat with embarrassment.

"Don't worry, Bane. You're not the only one."

Gemma could feel her temper licking again, the flames flickering dangerously. But her kindling was low, her usually energy drained. She didn't have the energy to bicker anymore. She just wanted to get back to her bed, and the sweet silence of sleep.

Draco wasn't worth another word.

So with a pointed glare and a haughty huff, Gemma turned on her heel and began trudging her way back up the hill.

Draco's eyes bore into her as the now-dry drama queen stormed off, shoulders heaving as she went. He felt the familiar pool of aggravation in his gut.

He'd expected more of a fight.

Draco looked down at the crane still pinched delicately in his grasp. He watched as he let it go, its paper wings doing nothing to help it as it descended, meeting the muddy ground and dirtying its pristine white wings. Without hesitation, he crushed it with the toe of his shoe.

He wished she would've drowned.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> DISCLAIMER: 
> 
> I do not own any of the original Harry Potter characters, world, or plot. The stories and their livelihood belong to J.K. Rowling. Any characters, world-building, or plotlines that diverge from the original books alternatively are mine.
> 
> This story is also posted on Wattpad under the same username 'lacedpink'. Both of these accounts are owned by me. Any other postings are not authorized unless explicitly stated.


	10. Anticipation

**_Chapter 10_ **   
**_ANTICIPATION_ **

_anticipation_   
_(n.) expectation or hope; restlessness in advance of a future event_

**THE** incessant tapping of her quill against her parted lips was only the first piece of evidence of Gemma's undeniable anxiousness. The speckled feathers brushed against them in a repeated rhythm, in sync with the shaking of her right leg and fidgeting left hand. They still had ten minutes left in Potions, but each second was seeming to last a year with Professor Snape's droning voice only adding to its slow progression.

For the past few days, all anyone could talk about was the Officially Unofficial Quidditch Match that would be taking place that night, all gossip about the impending Triwizard Tournament fading into the background. Students whispered across the dining tables to each other in hushed tones, chatting about who would be playing who and how secret practices were going. Just that morning, Seamus and Dean and been arguing about if Hufflepuff could beat Ravenclaw over breakfast.

"Justin said Hufflepuff's been practicing every day since the game was announced," Dean had said through a mouthful of porridge.

"Yea, well Goldstein said Ravenclaw's been doing some crazy new maneuvers. I mean, without Madam Hooch watching, who knows what they'll try to pull," Seamus fired back, spinning his wand wildly as if to imitate the supposedly tricky skills the Ravenclaw team had been mastering over the last month.

Gemma was sure the impending dinner conversation would solely contain more Quidditch related topics, and she couldn't lie that she was just as excited as everyone else. Even if she didn't get to be on the pitch, it would be nice to take her mind off of her schoolwork, detention, and the swirling images of snakes and skulls that seemed to be invading her dreams more and more frequently.

The sound of the bell bouncing against the dungeon walls had everyone instantly scrambling, desperate to get to the Great Hall and up to bed, as if their hurrying would faster bring the start of the game.

Gemma cleared her cauldron with a wave of her wand, shoving her textbooks into her bag as Snape tried to recount their homework over the increasing chatter.

"I would like sixty centimeters of parchment on Chelidonium Miniscula by next class," his dreary grumble carried straight over the heads of the distracted students.

Gemma tried to make a mental note of the assignment, but she was sure she'd end up asking Hermione to remind her again before Monday.

Her mind was already focused on green grass and golden snitches.

Stumbling out of the Potions classroom, Gemma tried to find the familiar red hair and glasses of her friends, but the jostling crowd pulled her further down the corridor. Figuring she could just meet them at the Great Hall, Gemma shrugged and turned to make her way down the expansive halls along with the rest of her peers.

She'd almost reached the grand marble staircase of the Entrance Hall when she felt an arm sling itself over her shoulders. When she looked up, she was met with grey eyes and tousled brassy hair.

Cedric beamed down at her as they continued to walk, books tucked tightly under his opposite elbow.

"Excited for tonight?" he asked, grinning.

Gemma couldn't help the smile that bit into her cheeks at his enthusiasm.

"Shouldn't I be asking you that?" she shot back, raising her eyebrows quizzically.

Cedric chuckled, throwing his head back in amusement.

"What do you mean? I'm a professional. This is strictly business for me."

Gemma rolled her eyes, hitting him lightly in the chest with her free hand as they began to descend the stairs.

"Oh, please. You look like a kid on Christmas morning."

"What can I say? Everyone loves a good game of Quidditch," said Cedric, giving in to Gemma's prompting.

"Can't argue there," she answered, "Although sitting in the stands is not nearly as fun."

Cedric tugged her closer in almost a joking headlock, shaking her slightly.

"Come on, how would you properly cheer me on if you were flying on a broomstick anyway?"

"Hate to break it to you, but I don't fraternize with the enemy," Gemma spoke cheekily, taking his arm from around her shoulder, "And I most certainly don't cheer for them."

As they entered the Great Hall, the tables were noticeably almost full. Everyone seemed to be inhaling their food, the trepidation palatable in the air. With the amount of buzz the match had stirred up, Gemma was thoroughly surprised none of the professors had caught on yet. Or perhaps maybe they had, but were just as excited for something interesting to break up their monotonous weeks.

Gemma paused at the end of the Gryffindor table, Cedric coming to stand in front of her as he gave her a faux-pointed glare.

"I would cheer for you," he huffed, crossing his arms as he pouted in fake disappointment.

Laughing at his over-dramatics, Gemma sighed, feigning defeat.

"Fine. If Hufflepuff plays anyone but Gryffindor, I'll go full-on crazed fan if you catch the snitch. But, if you play us and we win, you have to wear Luna's lion hat for a whole day," she stuck out her hand towards him, "So, we have a deal?"

Cedric eyed her wiggling fingers skeptically, his own fingers playing at his lower lip in contemplation. Finally, he grasped her hand in his own, giving it a firm shake.

"Deal, but if Hufflepuff plays Gryffindor and _we_ win, then you have to wear a badger-head scarf for a day," he countered.

Gemma's mouth gaped as she glared at him.

"You can't change the deal while shaking, you bloody twat," she said, dropped their hands.

"Too late," said Cedric. He brought his hand back up to the top of her head, ruffling her light-brown tresses so that a few pieces came loose from her signature satin knot.

Gemma swatted him away as she began to make her way towards her already seated housemates.

"Good luck tonight, Diggory, you'll need it," she called, turning with a final wave and making her way over towards one of the last two empty spots at the table.

She could instantly feel Lavender Brown's eye's on her as she swung herself over the long, wooden bench. Sliding her bag onto the floor, she met the practically jumping girl's gaze.

"Yes, Lavender?" Gemma asked, placing her bag on the floor next to her feet.

"So, are you two dating yet?" Lavender pounced, leaning forward as she clasped her hands together under her chin.

Gemma watched as the girl's tie trailed its way through her mashed potatoes, nose scrunching in disgust.

"No. We're just friends," she said earnestly, wincing as the fabric made contact with a pool of gravy.

"But he had his arm around you, I saw it," urged Lavender.

Not in the mood to be the center of Lavender's fickle fantasies, Gemma hooked both her arms around Seamus and Ron's necks, both of whom were sitting on either side of her.

"Well, then, looks like I'm dating Seamus and Ron here, too."

The tips of the two boys' ears turned identical shades of pink, Ron choking slightly on a gulp of pumpkin juice. Lavender's face deflated almost instantly at Gemma's sarcasm, a frown setting across her features. Gemma beamed back at her cheekily, before finally releasing her friends and scooping some pudding onto her plate. She shared an amused glance with Ginny and Hermione who sat across from her, the girls silently shaking with laughter.

Only then did she realize they were missing someone.

"Where's Harry?" Gemma voiced, tilting her head questioningly as she forked food into her mouth.   
Her stomach rumbled appreciatively as it warmed her insides.

Ginny shrugged, casting a look towards Hermione and Ron who also shook their heads.

"Don't know," said Hermione, "He disappeared after Potions. We assumed he was going to check the Owlrey to see if Hedwig had returned, and then meet us here. But he hasn't shown yet."

"He's still waiting for another response from," Gemma's tone dropped an octave so that no one around them could overhear, "Sirius?"

Ron and Hermione nodded in sync as they continued to eat.

Gemma's smile fell slightly. She felt bad for Harry. He'd just found his only remaining family member (she didn't count the Dursley's), only to have him be exiled. She couldn't imagine not being able to write to or see her mother, or Gideon.

Speaking of whom, she should really write to soon. Maybe her mother could finally answer some questions about the mysterious photograph she'd received.

The remainder of dinner passed by decently fast, Gemma finding light conversation with Seamus, Ron, and Ginny about the Quidditch match as Hermione glared at them from over the top of one of her textbooks. She still wasn't very fond of their rule-breaking, despite having done so many times in the past to save Harry.

The rows of students slowly began to thin out as they retreated to their dormitories, hoping to gain a few restless hours of sleep before they were all meant to sneak off to the training grounds for the game. Fred and George had scheduled each house a specific time and secret passage to use in order to avoid any teachers from spotting them on their way out. Gryffindor was set to leave their rooms at a quarter-past eleven, using a passageway not too far off from their own common room entrance.

This would give them enough time to make it to the stands and find a spot before the quaffle was released, all hopefully without being caught.

When the lot had finally cleared their plates, they stood and shuffled their way back up towards the tower.

Gemma winced as a crack of lightning flashed across the darkened sky outside the windows as they walked. The harsh flicker reminding her of her tumble into the Black Lake, and the stark white hair of the useless, cold-hearted boy who failed to help her.

Gemma found herself wishing Gryffindor would play Slytherin just so that she could watch Harry absolutely destroy Draco's ego as he often did when the two teams went toe-to-toe.

She followed Hermione through the portrait hole and up the stairs to their room, flopping herself lazily down on top of the plush maroon comforter. A rumble of thunder rolled against the walls of the castle like a babbling brook, coaxing the age-old stone.

She watched as Hermione bit her lip, fumbling through her trunk for her pajamas.

"That doesn't sound very good," she mumbled, tugging off her robes as she cocked her head at the window suggestively.

Gemma stood, doing the same as she began to dress for bed.

"It's not raining yet, I wouldn't worry about it. Besides, the school's held games in much poorer conditions."

"Still," Hermione trailed off, "There were professors there, adults. People to help if something went wrong."

Gemma walked over to her friend, sitting down on the foot of her bed and tucking her legs underneath her.

"Everything will be fine, Hermione," she watched as the anxious girl folded her clothes neatly, "Seriously, if you're so worried, why don't you come?"

Hermione paused, smoothing the wrinkles in her blouse absentmindedly. She seemed to contemplate the idea for just a moment, before shaking her head and turning back to her wardrobe.

"No, no. It's after hours, and it's dangerous, and- well, it's just plain idiotic."

Gemma sighed. She knew there was no use in trying to convince Hermione otherwise, so instead of wasting her breath, she stood silently and made her over towards her side of the room again. She pulled back the covers, climbing into their welcoming warmth as she snuggled in. Gemma doubted she'd be able to get much sleep, but she knew she should try, otherwise, she'd be banking on the fact she'd have time to rest after the game.

Turning onto her side, she drew the curtains around her bed closed with her wand before placing it on the nightstand next to her. She could still hear the sound of Hermione's pacing footsteps from beyond the fabric barrier.

"It'll all be fine," she called into the darkness, "No one's going to get hurt."

__

Gemma woke to the sound of Parvati hissing her name, her round face poking through the curtains hanging around her four-poster.

"Pst, Gemma! It's time!"

Eyes still weighed down with sleep, Gemma rubbed at them slightly, peering up at the already dressed girl.

"Hurry!"

Blinking into the still dark bedroom, Gemma sat up, stretching her arms and smiling slightly as a wave of excitement spread through her limbs. She suddenly felt very awake, slipping out onto the chilled hardwood floor and slinking over towards the trunk at the end of her bed. She carefully pried open the lid, trying not to be too loud as she rifled through her belongings to try and find something appropriate to wear.

It would no doubt be pretty cold outside, considering it was almost midnight and the weather had been growing increasingly cold as fall began to fade and the winter months approached. Pulling out a striped Gryffindor jumper and a pair of cozy black pants, she changed hastily, tugging on her thicker set of robes, a scarf, hat, and gloves over top.

When she finally emerged into the hallway just outside their room, she was shocked to see Hermione already standing there next to Lavender.

She was just as bundled up as the rest of them, chin tucked into the folds of her identical scarf. Gemma smiled wide at the sight of her friend, linking their arms together as the fourth-year girls began to descend the stairs into the common room.

"Decided to come after all?" Gemma whispered, nudging Hermione.

"Someone responsible has to be there," Hermione grumbled back, but Gemma didn't miss the slight tilt of her lips.

Even Hermione couldn't deny the thrill of a good game of Quidditch.

The gaggle of girls emerged amongst their peers, who were all huddled near the portrait door murmuring animatedly in hushed voices. Less than a minute later, Fred's head appeared through the entrance, his face split with a wide, gleaming grin. The rest of his body was blocked by the painting, the dim lighting making it seem as though he was just a floating head.

Nearly Headless Nick would've been jealous.

"Alright ladies and gents, follow me. Stay close, and stay silent. Don't want Filch catching on, now do we?"

Numerous heads bobbed in quiet agreement, and soon the small cluster of students was streaming from the tower. Hermione, Gemma, Parvati, and Lavender stepped into the chilled hallway, darting across towards the stone arch that seemed to have appeared out of nowhere.

Fred stood at its entrance, casting glances back and forth over all their heads as he made sure the coast was clear. Now that they could see all of him, Gemma could tell he was dressed in his Quidditch robes, folds of vibrant red and gold making a swell of jealousy ebb in her gut. She gave him a twitch of a smile as they passed by and into the dank corridor that served as the secret passage out of the castle.

It was narrow, the ceiling nearly touching some of the boys' heads up ahead as the Gryffindors made their way down what seemed to be an endless staircase. The floor seemed to be damp with moisture, and Parvati wrinkled her nose as she voiced her disgust at the smell.

"Worse than a dungbomb in here," she muttered. 

The other girls hummed in response as they walked.

Eventually, after what felt like at least ten minutes, the feeling of wind nipping at their robes told them they were nearing the exit. Emerging on the desolate grounds, Gemma and her housemates all grimaced as they were met with sheets of heavy rain. It was coming down hard, turning the hillside into a waterfall of mud and grass as it sloped toward the lake.

Thankfully, always prepared, Hermione pulled a black umbrella from the folds of her robes, unsheathing it so that the darting droplets were directed away from them.

They huddled together as they descended towards the training grounds, tiny black dots against feels of watery green. The sky was a brilliant grey, lightning lighting up the clouds every so often, reflecting off the castle in streaks. The Black Lake gleamed tauntingly at her as they passed, a few students making a break for it as they finally neared the towering stands. Gemma and Hermione followed suit, picking up their pace as they began to jog towards the flapping overhang of the wooden structure surrounding the pitch.

Gemma squinted through the downpour as they neared, noticing what seemed to be a huddle of red and gold off to the side. As they stepped into the sheltered tent, she could see it was the Gryffindor team, all arguing loudly over one another.

With a shared weary glance at Hermione, the two of them split off from the rest of the group, walking over towards the bickering teammates. Their shouts could barely be heard over the severely raging weather.

"What other choice do we have?" Angelina Johnson was yelling at another one of their Chasers, arms flailing angrily.

"If we forfeit we'll look like bloody idiots," spat back the raven-haired girl.

Murmurs of agreement met her statement as some of her fellow teammates nodded their heads. 

"What's going on?" Fred and George spoke in unison as they came up behind Gemma and Hermione, pushing past the two girls.

Ginny was with them as well, coming to huddle beneath the shared umbrella.

"Potter is missing in action. We've got no clue where he's gone off too, and with Katie out after that rough practice last week, we don't have anyone to fill his spot," Angelina growled, rubbing the space between her brows with her forefinger and thumb.

She looked like she wanted to kick something, specifically Harry.

"What about Alicia?" George suggested, pointing at one of the players standing amongst the huddle.

"Then we're only down to two Chasers," said Angelina.

The team grew silent, no one knowing what to say. They couldn't play with two seekers, it would be a suicide mission.

The rain beat down even harder then, roaring against the tent as if to mimic the downtrodden mood of the team. Until Ginny's voice cut through the thunder.

"What about Gemma?"

Instantly, all heads whipped towards the three of them. Gemma's eyes grew wide as she looked panicked at Ginny.

"What do you mean 'What about Gemma'?" asked Angelina, arms crossed over her chest.

"She was a Seeker, at her old school. Weren't you, Gemma?"

Gemma felt her cheeks heat, her heart thudding against her ribcage as the Gryffindor Captain's eyes trained themselves on her tiny frame. She nodded weakly.

"Um-" Gemma cleared her throat, "Um, yea. I was."

"You any good?" Angelina walked closer to her, eyeing her up with a sweeping gaze.

"Uh-" Gemma wasn't sure how to answer that. She'd never lost when she'd played for her old school, but compared to Harry? She didn't know how she faired.

"She's great! I've seen her stats. Her team went undefeated when Gemma was with them," Ginny piped in, tugging at Gemma's arm excitedly.

Gemma sent her friend a frantic look, before meeting Angelina's calculating face again.

"When was the last time you played?"

"I think two weeks ago. But it was just a quick scrimmage," said Gemma shyly.

They weren't seriously considering having her play, were they?

"You're kidding right?" spoke the raven-haired girl again, "She's not on the team! She can't play, that's against the rules!"

"Well, considering this is an Officially Unofficial Quidditch Match I think that means it's up to the gamekeepers what is or isn't against the rules," said Hermione, causing everyone's faces to lift in shock. They'd almost forgotten she was there.

"Fred? George?" said Ginny, turning toward the twins.

The identical boys grinned at each other.

"Fine by me Fred, what do you think?"

"Sounds splendid to me, George."

The three red-heads were beaming at Gemma, the rest of the team looking at her expectantly. Angelina spoke again.

"So what do you say, Gemma Bane? Want to be a Gryffindor Seeker?"

Gemma almost pinched herself. Words she'd dreamt of hearing swirling around her head like a bee. It wasn't until Hermione elbowed her hard in the back that she finally answered.

"Yea, sure. Of course!"

Angelina nodded, face still serious.

"Right, well. Let's get you some robes. I'll give you a rundown of what we've done in practice recently, but all we really need you to focus on is the snitch."

Gemma cast a nervous glance back at Hermione and Ginny who both gave her encouraging thumbs-up as she was led away by Angelina and further into the team's tent.

They entered into a slightly more open space, with wooden cubbies lining the thick-striped vinyl walls. Brooms, robes, and clothes littered the few benches, and a standing chalkboard with plays scribbled haphazardly across stood off to one side.

Gemma's head swiveled as she tried to take it all in. Harry had described the team tent before to her, but she'd never been allowed inside. That privilege was left for those who made the team.

"We're playing Ravenclaw," Angelina said, "Cho's their Seeker this year. She's fast and smart. And I don't know how you play, but if you want to beat her to the snitch, you're going to have to try to think six steps ahead of her because I guarantee she'll already be five ahead of you."

She shoved a bundle of clothes towards Gemma, "Put these on and meet us back out here as soon as you can. Game starts in less than thirty minutes."

Grasping the robes, Gemma hurried off toward the changing area, already pulling off her hat and scarf as she went. She quickly undressed, tugging on the robes she had been admiring only an hour early on Fred. Her fingers smoothed over the embroidered lion next to her heart carefully as she inhaled, half wondering if maybe she was still asleep in her four-poster. Sure, it wasn't an official game, but she was going to play again. In front of a real crowd, with a real team.

As if on cue, she heard George's voice echo across the stadium.

"Welcome, welcome! To the first ever Officially Unofficial Quidditch Match!"

A chorus of cheering rose up from the stands, sending a shiver down Gemma's spine.

"First up, we'll have Gryffindor versus Ravenclaw."

Another cacophony of shouting.

"Followed by Slytherin versus Hufflepuff."

Gemma couldn't help but chuckle lightly to herself. She couldn't imagine the look on Cedric's face if it had been Hufflepuff versus Gryffindor and she'd shown up on the field.

Or Draco's either. What she would give to beat that bastard to the snitch.

"The first game will commence in exactly ten minutes. Let's play some Quidditch!"

Gemma finished buttoning up her robes, finally tugging on her leather wristguards. She pulled all of her hair back into a ponytail, knowing it would only get in the way if she left it loose, and headed back in towards the rest of the team.

She found them all standing around Angelina, brooms in hand, as they listened to her last-minute advice. Gemma nervously edged her way into the circle next to Alicia, who gave her a polite smile. Angelina paused at Gemma's arrival, waiting to continue.

"As I was saying, the same plays still apply. Gemma, you focus on catching the snitch as soon as possible. Don't worry about what everyone else is doing, we'll fly around you. The weather is tough, but we've played in worse. If we work together, I think we can win."

Everyone's heads bobbed in unison, grips tightening round wooden handles. They were all anxious to get going, the crowd growing louder as the minutes went on. Lee Jordan stuck his head through the tent entrance to the field, signaling to Angelina it was time. The captain looked back over her teammates, including the new addition.

"Let's do this."

They all began to get into their formation, Gemma taking up Harry's usual spot next to Angelina. A flustered bout of realization coursed through her as she realizes what she was missing.

"Wait, Angelina, what about my-" her question was cut short by the sound of someone calling her name.

"Gemma!" Ginny and Hermione were sprinting over to her, Hermione holding the umbrella still, and Ginny clutching Gemma's Nimbus 2000 in her gloved hands.

Gemma breathed a sigh of relief, taking the broom from her friends.

"Thank you," she said, hugging them both. They squeezed her back, grinning as they pulled away.

"You're going to do great Gemma. If you play like you have in those scrimmages with Ron and Harry, Ravenclaw doesn't stand a chance," said Ginny, giving Gemma another reassuring pat on the shoulder.

"Good luck, Gemma," Hermione smiled, all worry seeming to have disappeared from her features. The only emotion evident the same excitement as everyone else.

They could hear Lee announcing the Ravenclaw team outside, shouts of house pride meeting his words. With one last dimpled grin from each of them, Ginny and Hermione turned and exited the tent to go find a place in the stands.

Gemma faced forward again, just in time for her to mount her broom.

"And now, Gryffindor!"

At the sound of Lee's voice booming over the wind, she kicked off with the rest of the team, rain immediately pelting her as she darted up and over the Quidditch pitch. The roar of the crowd surged over the water filling her ears, clear as ever.

Gemma felt herself break out into a grin as she zipped up the field and did a loop around the Gryffindor goal posts.

"In a last minute change to the roster, we have Gemma Bane filling in for Harry Potter as Seeker. An unknown entity, Bane's a complete and total mystery. We'll have to see if she can live up to the Chosen One's legacy."

She heard her name echoed against the distant hills as she flew, sending a wave to her housemates as they all jumped up and down, screaming in delight at the sight of her. Gemma's ear-splitting grin seemed to grow even wider as she zipped past a gaping Cedric, who was stood with the rest of the Hufflepuff team off to the side. She did a little twirl in the air, purposefully showing off, before looping back to the center to line up for the quaffle toss.

An older Hufflepuff stood in the middle of the pitch, presumably one of Fred and George's friends who would serve as the referee for the game seeing as both of the twins were playing themselves.

Gemma drew a shaky inhale, pushing it out through her lips as she tried to calm herself and focus. This was just like any other game she'd played, her job was simple, same as always. She closed her eyes for a moment, centering herself.

When she opened them again, they met steely grey. She felt her stomach drop, the familiar rolling feeling tickling her lower ribs.

Draco's gaze cut into her like a knife from his view below as he leaned against one of the wooden posts. He had his own broom clutched in his hands, the emerald green of his Quidditch robes a murky, almost inky black from the rain.

Gemma shook her head, breaking the contact. The anger she'd kept at bay since the incident at the lake crept up the back of her neck, and she found herself twisting it uncomfortably. She wouldn't let him ruin this for her. This was her moment.

As if on cue, the shrill shriek of the whistle barely met her ears as the quaffle was thrown vertically and Angelina caught it. She immediately took off towards the Ravenclaw goal posts, everyone following suit except for Gemma. Instead, the soaked Gryffindor Seeker sped the opposite way, cresting higher so that she hovered far above the field of play. She needed a vantage point, especially with the way the weather was decreasing her visibility.

She kept her eyes peeled not only for the snitch, but for Cho Chang as well. She watched as Angelina did a loop around the goals, quaffle still clutched close to her chest. Fred sent a beater careening towards one of the Ravenclaw Chasers who was close on Angelina's tale.

Alicia tried to move in closer, motioning for Angelina to pass to her, but the Ravenclaw Beater batted Fred's bludger right back, and sent Alicia ducking out of its way. Angelina faked a right, rolling underneath a rival Chaser and taking a u-turn straight back towards the other end of the field. When she was close enough, she pulled back her arm and hurtled the ball straight at their Keeper.

It passed just over their head, making it through the center ring and causing an ear-splitting eruption of cheers from the Gryffindor's in the stands.

Gemma pumped her fist in the air, still perusing the same small area overhead.

The players were already back at it down below, the Ravenclaw Chasers throwing the quaffle back and forth. A flash of blue in Gemma's peripheral had her darting towards the lower left side of the field, where Cho had suddenly swooped low to the ground.

Gemma caught up to her quickly, pushing against the wind and rain as she came up beside the dark-haired girl. Realizing it had been a fake play, Gemma harshly pulled upwards, sailing back towards the sky where she could observe.

Gryffindor had scored twice more and Ravenclaw once when she finally saw it. The familiar flash of gold.

It was hovering just above the head of one of the Ravenclaw Beaters, dancing around his ears.

Without a moment of hesitation, Gemma dashed in its direction. As soon as it noticed her coming, it changed course diving towards the ground. Gemma followed closely behind, weaving in and out of the other players as the snitch rose and dived in different directions.

It was clear she'd spotted it, and the audience was going nuts, shouting her name as she advanced on it. Gemma could feel the familiar presence of Cho behind her as the other Seeker caught on. The two girls chased after the snitch, the rain seeming to only grow heavier as they whipped this way and that. The slick wood of her broom handle had Gemma grasping it for dear life, urging it to go just a little faster. It was so close, barely past the tip of the handle.

Gemma reached her hand toward it, stretching as far as she could, only to be bashed into from the left. A Ravenclaw Chaser purposefully slammed her broom into Gemma, throwing her off course, and allowing Cho to continue after the snitch as it flitted down the field.

The unhappy cries of her housemates met her ears, and once she'd righted herself, she was right back after it. She came up on Cho easily again, the two flying almost in sync.

Gemma barely had enough time to hear George's cry of warning over the wind before she rolled out of the way, causing Cho's broom to get clipped by the bludger and send her spinning.

Gemma grinned, throwing a wave at George in thanks over her should to which he returned before dashing off in the other direction. The glint of the snitch split through the rain as Gemma approached it again.

It was almost within her reach, she could feel the hum of its wings against her leather-clad palm. The shouts of the crowd intensified and Gemma's heart swelled. She was about to win them the game.

But the cries she heard weren't of elation.

Because just as her hand began to close around the snitch, so did the bludger as it smashed into the side of her head, sending her, her broom, and the snitch tumbling to the ground below.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> DISCLAIMER: 
> 
> I do not own any of the original Harry Potter characters, world, or plot. The stories and their livelihood belong to J.K. Rowling. Any characters, world-building, or plotlines that diverge from the original books alternatively are mine.
> 
> This story is also posted on Wattpad under the same username 'lacedpink'. Both of these accounts are owned by me. Any other postings are not authorized unless explicitly stated.


	11. Spiteful

**_Chapter 11_ **   
**_SPITEFUL_ **

_spiteful_   
_(_ _adj.) full of spite or malice_

**"IS** she dead?"

The sound of paper hitting flesh reverberated off the stone walls of the hospital wing.

"No, you bloody moron! Does she look like she's dead?"

"I don't know, I've never seen a dead body before."

Gemma's forehead crinkled in pain as she winced at the loud voices above her. They sounded distant, as if bouncing back and forth against the walls of a cave. She tried to move, attempting to lift an arm. Nothing. She willed her finger to wiggle, but to no avail. The limb wouldn't budge.

Thinking she should maybe start off easier, she braced herself and with an immense amount of effort was able to barely crack open an eyelid. Harsh sunlight had her shutting them again almost immediately, a broken groan leaving her dry lips. She could taste the tang of old blood on her tongue as she wet them. With all the strength she could muster, she opened her eyes again, blinking through the pounding in her head.

A mirage of faces blended into one another as they all peered over her previously sleeping figure. Gemma concentrated, trying to get the muddled features to focus into identifiable people.

All four Weasleys were staring down at her, bright red hair glinting identically in the sunlight filtering through the expansive windows. Ginny had what looked like a copy of the Daily Prophet clutched in her hands, it poised threateningly as George rubbed his arm avoiding her glare.

"Try not to kill each other, this bed's already taken," Gemma's voice sounded ragged to her own ears as it crawled its way weakly up her throat.

"She lives!" exclaimed Fred, shaking Ron by the shoulders as he hopped up and down.

Ginny immediately planted herself in the seat near Gemma's head, blocking her view of the rowdy boys who'd begun to do some sort of celebratory jig.

"How're you feeling?" Ginny asked, worry creasing her brows as she watched Gemma try to sit up, "Don't move, you'll only make it worse."

Gemma sighed, pausing her movements and laying back down defeated.

"Awful," she answered Ginny, "It feels like someone took a mallet to my temple."

"Looks like it too," offered Ron, grimacing as he eyed the scar running from the corner of Gemma's right eyebrow and into her hairline.

This time, Ron was the one to receive the blow from Ginny's paper, letting out a cry in response.

"Where's Harry and Hermione?" Gemma asked, squinting quizzically as she eyed the vacant wing. Only one other bed was taken, although she couldn't make out by who.

"Angelina's gone to fetch them. We weren't allowed to see you for a while, Madam Pomfrey only just gave the ok for visitors," said Ginny.

"What happened? How long was I out for?" Gemma's head throbbed, and she shut her eyes against the pain, "All I remember is reaching for the snitch."

The Weasley's all exchanged wary glances, Ginny attempting a smile that came out more grimace-like.

"You got hit in the head, with a bludger," she said, patting Gemma's arm that still lay limp at her side. She could feel it at least, although moving it still proved to be too painful of a task.

"Bloody Ravenclaw Beater didn't even try to aim for your broom. Dirty rotten little-"

"That's enough Ron," Ginny shushed her brother, "It knocked you clear off your broom, and you fell."

"Ouch," murmured Fred, rubbing the side of his head as if he was the one to fall over a hundred meters to the earth.

"Everyone started going crazy, it was a madhouse. People started running in all directions, thought we were gonna get caught," Ron explained further, coming to stand alongside Ginny.

"Of course we rushed right to you, though," continued Ginny reassuringly, "The team helped get you to the infirmary, and then Madam Pomfrey took it from there."

"How long have I been out for?" asked Gemma, taking in the noticeably different weather outside.

"A little over a day, not too long," said Ginny. Gemma sighed, turning her head to stare at the ceiling. She'd gotten hit in the head, fell to the ground, and knocked out for days? In front of the entire school?

How bloody fucking embarrassing.

"Did I at least catch the snitch?" Gemma wasn't even sure she wanted to know the answer.

To her pleasant surprise though, the red-heads all seemed to perk up at her question.

"Yes, actually, you somehow did," Ginny laughed, "Gryffindor won."

"It was brilliant," chimed Ron, grinning. Gemma smiled weakly.

"Well, at least I did something right."

Just then, the sound of pounding footsteps came rumbling from the other side of the large doors at the end of the wing. Hermione and Harry burst through moments later, both panting as they ran over towards the small cohort of siblings that had surrounded Gemma's bed. Angelina trailed behind them, grumbling something to herself about not sprinting through the castle.

"Gemma!" Hermione exclaimed, screeching to halt on the opposite side of her from Ginny, "How're you doing?"

Gemma winced.

"As well as I can be."

"I knew that stupid game was a bad idea. I should've never encouraged you to play, I'm so sorry," Hermione rambled, shaking her head as if the entire ordeal was her fault.

"I'm alright, Hermione. It was my choice, you couldn't have stopped me if you tried," said Gemma, wishing she could pat her friend's arm comfortingly.

The curly-haired witch still sighed, not believing she was forgiven.

"If anyone should be to blame, it's me," spoke Harry, scratching the back of his neck, "I'm sorry I wasn't there Gemma. I never should've flaked on the game."

Gemma shook her head as adamantly as she could, denying his claims.

"No, no, Harry. I'm sure you had good reason. Besides, I loved getting to play again, despite the slightly tragic ending."

Harry seemed to visibly relax at her words, nodding his relief. Angelina looked at her, sending her a polite tilt of her lips.

"You did great out there, Gemma. Honestly," said the tall Quidditch Captain.

"Thanks, Angelina."

"Do you need anything, Gemma?" Hermione piped in again, "Books, food? I know they don't always bring the freshest choices all the way up here."

"I'm good, thank you though," said Gemma, "Really." She added at her friend's uncertain faces.

"Honestly, I think I just need some more sleep. I promise, I'll be in tip-top shape again in no time."

"Well, alright. If you're absolutely sure," said Hermione, who was looking at her as if she could discern whether Gemma truly was ok. 

"I am," Gemma tried to paint the most pleasant look she could on her face, attempting to hide the thudding headache that was growing stronger the longer she kept her eyes open.

"Right, well, we'll leave you to rest," said Ginny, tugging at Ron's arm as she stood up.

Her friends all maneuvered their ways back towards the end of her bed, still looking at her with pity.

"But please let us know if you need anything," Hermione spoke again as they began to walk away, "Anything at all."

"I will," chuckled Gemma. Her friends truly were the kindest people she knew. She didn't deserve them.

She'd been keeping the secret of the photograph from them for weeks, stowing away in the library to try and figure out the mystery on her own when she very well knew they'd be at her side in a heartbeat if she asked. Still, she couldn't bring herself to mention it to them. It just seemed so unimportant in the grand scheme of things.

As Fred and George turned to follow the rest of her friends and Angelina, Gemma called out to them, remembering she had a question.

"What happened with the rest of the match? Did you two get in trouble?"

The twins' cheeky grins told her everything she needed to know. They hadn't so much as gotten a detention.

Lucky bastards.

"Got off clean as a whistle," said George. Fred blew out a high pitched note for further emphasis.

"You two never fail to amaze me," said Gemma.

"Why thank you, dearest Gemma," said Fred.

"Means a lot, Miss Bane," added George.

And with that, the boys sauntered off back out the doors, leaving Gemma alone with her thoughts in the near-empty hospital wing. She lay on her back on the stiff cot, tracing the patterns in the sloping ceiling as she tried not to focus on the pain igniting her bones. She almost wished she hadn't sent her friends away, at least their chattering served as a distraction from the pulsating waves of discomfort.

Thinking she should take her own advice, Gemma allowed her eyes to grow heavy again, slipping back into an uncomfortable slumber.

She woke up a few times over the next few days, but the majority of the hours were spent in restless charmed sleep. Madam Pomfrey had come in to check on her, helping her when she needed. She'd also informed her of all her injuries, and had insisted Gemma stay in the hospital wing for at least another three days.

When she was finally cleared to leave, it was already the 29th of October, the day before the other schools would arrive for the tournament, and her final detention with Draco before its beginnings as well.

The clouds hung low in the sky as Gemma sat on her bed, stretching her arms above her head, waiting for Madam Pomfrey to come give her final checks and officially release her. Gemma was still undoubtedly sore, but the sharp agony had ebbed into more of a weak burning at best.

The sound of the doors creaking open had Gemma turning toward them in suppressed joy, excited to finally be getting out of there and back to her much more comfortable bed. But instead of the aged face of the nurse, she instead was greeted by the smiling face of Cedric Diggory.

He was dressed casually, his Quidditch jumper fitting tight to his toned torso as he made his way over to the far end of the wing where she was perched. Gemma couldn't help the rumble of laughter that made its way out of her mouth, though, as her eyes trailed up to what was sat on top of his head. 

Towering at least a foot above him was Luna's lion hat. He looked absolutely ridiculous, as if he was someone's boggart and they'd cast the corresponding spell on him.

Cedric was beaming as he approached her, the lion's papery mane shaking with every step he took.

"So it's true, Little Snitch. You survived!" Cedric sat down on the foot of Gemma's cot, watching as she clutched her stomach, still in hysterics.

"What-," she gasped between choking inhales, "What are you wearing?"

"It's Luna's lion hat. If Gryffindor won, I said I'd wear it. We had a deal, and I always follow through on my deals," said Cedric, looking skyward as if he could see the silly sculpture on his head.

"The deal was if Gryffindor won against Hufflepuff," said Gemma, shaking her head at the jokester in front of her, "We played Ravenclaw."

"Yes, well, I figured that since their Seeker took quite a nasty fall, I may as well show my support anyway. See if it made her feel any better."

Gemma blushed lightly at his comment, laughter still evident in her eyes.

"It did, thank you."

"So," Cedric continued, "What was the diagnosis?"

"Two broken ribs, fractured left ankle, concussion, and this pretty gash," Gemma answered, motioning the stark scar stretching along the side of her face.

Cedric nodded absentmindedly, watching as her finger traced the raised skin.

"I see. Hurt too bad?"

"Like a bitch," Gemma replied, "But doing much better now."

"Well, good to hear you're doing alright," said Cedric, "Which speaking of, you were amazing out there. Until you know, the whole..." he motioned to the side his head suggestively.

Gemma whacked him in the arm hard, mouth gaping as he mocked her.

"What is it with you hitting me lately?" he gasped.

"Maybe don't give me a reason to!" Gemma tried to give him a glare, but she knew she looked far from threatening. It was impossible to be mad at him when he was wearing that stupid thing.

Cedric's eyes softened as he stood, offering his hand to her.

"Seriously, though. The nickname is well deserved, you were incredible."

Gemma smiled shyly as she grasped his palm in hers, tucking a stray strand of hair that had fallen loose behind her ear. She didn't know what to say, not particularly used to being complimented. Especially by handsome sixth-year boys.

"So," she said, trying to steer the conversation off of her, "What about you? How did your match go?"

Cedric's smile hooked up on one side, sidling itself into more of a smirk.

"Absolutely obliterated Slytherin," he mused, clearly proud of the game they'd played.

"Well done, Diggory, well done," said Gemma, "Guess that means I have to wear the badger scarf then."

"Mm, yes. It appears you do," Cedric said, "Don't worry, I'll have it delivered to your room in time for class on Monday."

Gemma groaned, slapping a hand to her forehead.

"Why did I ever agree to this?" she asked, moving around Cedric as she gathered up the few books Hermione had brought her to read over the last few days.

She was more thankful now than ever that her friend had also taken the liberty of providing her with fresh robes for her release. Cedric was about to open his mouth to say something, but the arrival of Madam Pomfrey interrupted his sentence before it could even great the air. She bustled around Gemma, checking her vitals and wounds with a few sweeps of her wand.

"Everything looks good, but you should still take it easy for the next few days. I've specifically instructed Madam Bixhorn to give you a non-strenuous task for your detention later today."

Gemma nodded, and Madam Pomfrey swept back out of the hospital wing as quickly as she'd entered off to attend to her other duties.

"Detention?" Cedric asked, causing Gemma to jump slightly. She'd forgotten he'd been standing there.

"I hexed Draco Malfoy," she shrugged, holding the books close to her chest as she stepped out into the aisle that ran between the beds.

"No way, it was you who turned him into a ferret?" Cedric's voice was flooded with disbelief as he stared at the golden-haired girl.

"Yup," said Gemma, "But now I have to serve detention with the pretentious asshole for the rest of the year."

"Yikes."

"Yikes indeed," Gemma sighed, "Well if you'll excuse me, I'd love nothing more than to get some real food from the Great Hall before having to go serve said torturous punishment."

She inclined her head towards the door, beginning to walk towards it whilst looking over his shoulder.

"Of course," said Cedric, following behind her.

Gemma's foot had just crossed the threshold of the door when she heard Cedric call out her name, his hand gripping her shoulder as she turned around to face him again.

"I think you dropped this, it was by your bed."

Pinched between his fingers, and so aggravatingly, disgustingly pristine was a delicately folded small, white, paper crane.

__

Gemma could feel the creased folds of the origami sculpture in the pockets of her robes as she climbed the stairs toward the East Wing later that night.

She'd spent all day silently ruminating over the stupid piece of paper, unable to get it out of her head. What had it been doing near her hospital bed? There was a single person at Hogwarts she knew had a knack for the dainty parchment birds, and it was the one she was currently on her way to meet.

Had he...come to visit her? While she was in the hospital?

Gemma shook her head almost immediately at the thought. No way. Draco Malfoy couldn't care less what happened to her. In fact, if he was there, he was probably only there to watch as the blood drained from her body.

Besides, the boy folded the damn things all day long. Every time they had a class together, Gemma could see his fingers working over each other. He must have thousands stashed away in his room somewhere.

Speak of the devil, the familiar white hair of the very nuisance himself was visible at the end of the hallway as Gemma crested the stairs. He was already stood alongside Madam Bixhorn, a piece of bloody parchment expertly being bent back and forth in his hands. Gemma didn't dare meet his eyes as she approached, keeping her chin tucked and her gaze on her patent loafers.

When she'd come to a stop about a meter away from him, Madam Bixhorn gave them their instructions hastily before scurrying off in a hurry, presumably to finish preparing for the following day. They were to finish making up the final dorm rooms for the guest's arrival, making the remaining beds and tidying up anything out of place.

The sight of the arrogant boy beside her reignited the anger Gemma has successfully repressed on the Quidditch pitch when they'd locked eyes, and so without so much as a glance, she breezed past him and towards the open portrait at the end of the hall. They made their way in silence up through the stairwell leading to the spare dorm rooms, the only noise being their echoing footsteps on the stone as they ascended.

Emerging into the makeshift common room that looked awfully similar to Gryffindors, they found a stack of grey pillowcases and bedding sat on one of the oak tables. Gemma scooped up as many as she could carry, before heading up to the bedrooms. She could hear Draco's footsteps as he followed in her wake.

She didn't bother to turn around as he entered the room, already beginning to stuff one of the many pillows inside a satin slipcover.

The two of them worked in awkward silence, each making up beds, working their way around the perimeter. Gemma was honestly surprised Draco even knew how to make a bed, considering the number of house-elves she assumed he had back at his family's manor. She watched him out of the corner of her eye as he tucked the sheets under the mattress, placing the pillow right below the headboard.

Gemma wasn't sure why, but his lack of speech was itching at the base of her skull. It wasn't that she necessarily wanted him to talk, considering most of the time he was insulting her family or making fun of her. She didn't enjoy his company, in fact, far from it. If she had the option to never be in the same room with the fuckhead again, she'd take it.

Gemma knew she had a temper, her mother had told her repeatedly over the years. She'd learned to control it though, for the most part, and it usually only made an appearance when she was really irritated.

But Draco Malfoy was an expert at irritating her.

Gemma still held pent up rage from their incident at the lake, her anger only suppressed, not dissipated. It had been festering all week, and as she narrowed her eyes at the piece of paper Draco had set on one of the nightstands she decided that if he wasn't going to pick a fight for once, then she would.

How would he like it, when the tables were turned?

"Why do you make those useless things?" she said, her voice breaking through the silence of the still room.

Her question was met only with the rustle of bedsheets. Gemma stopped, dropping the pillow she was holding onto the bed, letting it bounce lazily onto the floor. She walked over to his discarded paper, picking it up in between her hands as she turned it this way and that.

"I mean, what's the point?"

Draco's sharp stare was narrowed on her small fingers as they played with the parchment, annoyance clear on his face. Why must she touch things that don't belong to her?

"Put it down," he growled lowly, halting his folding as well. He hated the way her nimble fingers toyed with the precise folds, dancing along the edges.

It looked too natural.

"Answer my question," Gemma retorted, eyes still trained on the crane in her hands.

"No," Draco replied forcefully, "Put it down."

Gemma pinched the tail with her forefinger and thumb, and then, gaze locked on his, she bent it. 

Draco inhaled sharply, but with a pinch of his eyes just shook his head, turning back to the bed he was working on.

Gemma frowned. She expected more of a reaction out of him. Huffing in frustration, she walked along the other side across from him, sitting down on the freshly smoothed sheets. Draco visibly ground his teeth.

"Get up," he hissed.

"No," Gemma fired back, crossing her arms.

"I swear to Merlin, Bane, get off the damn bed."

"Not until you answer my question."

Draco balled the sheets he was holding in his fists, his knuckles turning white as he closed his eyes, breathing out through his nose so harshly it was audible in the silence that followed.

"I'm waiting," she taunted even further, a sick satisfaction wrapping around her spine. How was it Draco was always able to bring out the worst in her?

"FOR FUCKS SAKE!" He cried suddenly, spitting at her, "It keeps my mind busy, alright? When I make the blasted birds I can actually focus on something, instead of having to hear the sound of my own bloody thoughts all the time."

Gemma's eyes widened in shocked fear as she leaned away from his heaving figure as he continued to rant, advancing in her now trembling frame.

"Why does it fucking matter to you, you pathetic excuse of a witch? Need something to fix so it feels like you're doing something with your worthless life? Think everyone doesn't notice how useless you are? The fourth wheel on the Golden Trio tricycle? They don't need you, they never have. No one does. Can't even play a bloody game of Quidditch without getting yourself knocked out of the sky," Draco was towering over her, his eyes pools of black as they dug into her soul like knives.

"You look at me and think I'm some puzzle to be solved, Bane? Well, riddle me this. I hate you. _I hate you._ The thought of you makes me want to cast an unforgivable on myself, and even that wouldn't be enough. You waking up after that match the other day was the worst thing that could've happened. You should've stayed dead."

Finally, he stopped, chest rising and falling erratically as he ran his fingers through his hair roughly. Draco grasped hold of one of the nearby chairs, hurtling it across the room so that it broke into splintered pieces against the wall. Gemma flinched at the noise it made as it connected with the stone, eyes trained on the embroidered sheets she was sitting on.

Numbly, she reached into the pocket of her robes, pulling the crane from the foot of her bed from its depths. She laid it delicately on top of the mattress, her words barely audible.

"If you hate me so much," she murmured, "Then why did you come visit me?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> DISCLAIMER: 
> 
> I do not own any of the original Harry Potter characters, world, or plot. The stories and their livelihood belong to J.K. Rowling. Any characters, world-building, or plotlines that diverge from the original books alternatively are mine.
> 
> This story is also posted on Wattpad under the same username 'lacedpink'. Both of these accounts are owned by me. Any other postings are not authorized unless explicitly stated.


	12. Adumbrate

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter contains direct quotes from 'Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire'. All credit to J.K. Rowling.

**_Chapter 12_ **

**_ADUMBRATE_ **

**_adumbrate_ **

_(v.) to foreshadow; a prefigure_

**DRACO’S** nostrils flared as he eyed the piece of paper atop the silken sheets. Gemma watched as the fury in his face transformed into something that looked more along the lines of haughty amusement. The tilt of his lips told her she had missed the mark by miles.

“You thought I was there to see you?” his scoff seemed to rattle inside her skull, “How fucking _tragic_.”

Draco rounded the bed so he was on the same side as Gemma, his larger build casting her completely in shadow as he stood above her. He raised his arm abruptly, and for a second Gemma thought he was going to strike her across the face. But instead of the expected slap, he lifted his right hand so that it was held barely an inch from the tip of her nose. His long, slender fingers held steady in her vision. She had to squint to get the image in front of her to focus properly, her brain trying to make sense of what she was seeing. A thin, barely visible scar ran from the tip of his thumb, wrapping across the front of his palm, and disappeared beneath the sleeve of his robes. The familiar pattern of a gash that could only be caused by an escaping Snitch carved its way across his porcelain skin.

Gemma’s breath met the back of his hand as she exhaled shakily, and Draco retracted it almost immediately as if the steam from her lips would burn him. His grimace deepened as he took a step back, fists retracting and clenching in on themselves. Without another word, he stormed over to the door of the bedroom, grasping the handle firmly in his furious grip. It seemed like he was always surrounded by thunderclouds. Rainy, dark, and maddening.

“I read.”

Draco’s hand paused in its movements, the cold metal of the handle cooling the same spot her breath had brushed.

“When I don’t want to think. When I can’t bear to be alone with my thoughts anymore. I read,” continued Gemma, standing up. She picked up the pillow she’d let fall to the floor, patting it lightly to rid it of any collected dust, fingers playing at a stray thread, “So I understand—the want to escape your own mind.”

Draco’s bitter response met the wood in front of him, not even bothering to face her as he spoke.

“I didn’t know you could read. Congratulations.”

Gemma winced as the thud of the door reverberated against the walls, shutting her eyes instinctively against the noise. Her shoulders slumped, releasing a tension she hadn’t realized had been knotted at the base of her neck. She mentally scolded herself as she tried to swallow the tightness in her throat, standing up straight and smoothing out the few barely-there wrinkles in her robes. Usually, Draco’s petty words didn’t affect her much. If anything, she usually felt angry or defensive when they got into their quarrels. She’d never once felt truly hurt by the venom he spewed, but the current nagging in the pit of her stomach was tellingly uncomfortable. Perhaps it was because he’d had the nerve to voice the exact thoughts she’d been troubling herself over the past few weeks. That her friends didn’t need her. That she just got in the way.

She should’ve known better than to pick a fight with Draco Malfoy.

Shaking her head, Gemma hurriedly finished making the remainder of the beds and gathered up the left-over linens into a neat pile. As she made her way through the beds to the center of the room, she pulled her wand from the waistband of her uniform skirt. She aimed it at the splintered wooden rods still lying in the corner of the room and muttered a quick _Reparo,_ the bits of chair beginning to splice themselves back together, melding back into their original form and tucking back under the corresponding desk upon completion.

Gemma eyed the paper crane still sitting on the bed, it’s eyeless face seeming to somehow still look right through her. She picked it up again, it’s tail still bent at an awkward angle as it stared unseeingly at her chest. A frown creased her lips downward, and she found herself chewing on the inside of her cheek as she contemplated what to do with it. For a moment she considered pocketing it again.

Thankfully, her wit caught up with her, and instead of slipping it back into the folds of her robes, she cast it into the waste bin. Gemma closed the door behind her, the smell of burning paper following her all the way back through the vacant castle.

When she stepped through the portrait hole a little past midnight, the scent of ash still sticking to the inside of her nose, she hadn’t expected anyone else to be up. The sight of Harry, Ron, and Hermione all huddled around the fire had her blinking hazily, her head tilting curiously as she made her way over to her friends.

Hermione was the first of the three to notice Gemma’s approaching presence, a relieved smile seeming to cross her features as she realized who it was, Crookshanks perking up from his sleeping position next to her. Harry had hurriedly shoved what appeared to be a piece of parchment under his textbooks that were strewn across the table, but visibly relaxed when he too saw that it was Gemma who had entered the common room. Hermione moved over on the plush velveteen couch so that Gemma could sit alongside her, patting the cushion in welcoming.

“Gemma!” Hermione greeted, “How was detention?”

“A cell in Azkaban doesn’t sound too bad right about now,” was Gemma’s response as she fell into the warmth of the couch. Hermione gave her a half-hearted smile, patting her hand sympathetically, “But never mind about me, what are you lot still doing up?”

Both Ron and Hermione looked expectantly at Harry, who sighed, pulling the hastily stowed parchment back out and smoothing it in front of him. Gemma leaned over to see the letter better, the dim firelight providing just enough visibility so that she could read the messy ink.

_Harry —_

_I’m flying north immediately. This news about your scar is the latest in a series of strange rumors that have reached me here. If it hurts again, go straight to Dumbledore— they’re saying he’s got Mad-Eye out of retirement, which means he’s reading the signs, even if no one else is._

_I’ll be in touch soon. My best to Ron, Hermione, and Gemma. Keep your eyes open, Harry._

_Sirius_

Gemma sat back, eyes widening slightly as they briefly danced across Harry’s forehead.

“I thought you said your scar wasn’t that bad,” she asked, looking at him intently. Harry shrugged sheepishly, casting his gaze towards his hands as he refolded the letter from his Godfather. Gemma could tell by the way his brows were pinched he wasn’t happy about the response he’d received.

“I shouldn’t have told him,” Harry mumbled, shoving the parchment between the pages of one of his books and slamming it closed. He stood up suddenly, scooping up his bag.

“Harry,” Hermione began, her voice sickeningly soothing, almost mother-like. 

“I’m going to bed,” Harry cut her off, “I’ll see you in the morning.”

With that, he disappeared up the stairs towards the boys' dormitories. Ron, Gemma, and Hermione all exchanged weary glances.

“I didn’t mean to make him upset,” said Gemma, feeling bad as she stared after Harry's retreating figure. Hermione quickly shook her head, readjusting Crookshanks on her lap.

“It’s not your fault. He’s just upset about...” Hermione trailed off suggestively, not wanting to risk saying Sirius’ name.

“So, his scars been hurting more than he’s letting on?” asked Gemma. Ron nodded, standing up from the floor where he’d been sprawled out and taking Harry’s vacated seat.

“Been getting some wicked bad flare-ups,” he said, “Nearly though he was going to faint last week.”

“What do you think it means?”

Hermione bit her lip, a common occurrence when she wasn’t sure about something.

“I don’t have many theories yet, but it can’t mean anything good. It’s only ever hurt him when bad things are about to happen.”

“You sound like Trelawney,” Ron mumbled, his dislike for the Divinations professor clear in his twisted expression. Gemma shuddered at the name, remembering the last time she’d faced the bug-eyed and beaded women. The distinct shape of an intertwined skull and snake flashed across her mind.

“Do you think, maybe…” Gemma didn’t want to finish her sentence. None of them wanted to even voice the possibility of a certain unnamed Wizard being the reason for Harry’s recent ailments. Ron and Hermione both shifted uncomfortably in their seats.

Hermione breathed out hesitantly, her hands stalling in their petting.

“I really, really, hope not.”

__

The following day, it was as if someone had slipped something into everyone's goblets at breakfast. A pleasant anticipation clung to the air, rippling throughout the waves of students who couldn’t seem to sit still in any of their lessons as they awaited the arrival of their foreign guests.

Even Potions seemed to fly by quicker than usual (it was half an hour shorter after all), and Gemma, Harry, Ron, and Hermione practically sprinted their way up to Gryffindor Tower when the bell rang, eager to deposit all their belongings in their rooms and get back down to the entrance hall where they’d been instructed to report to.

When they arrived out of breath, dressed in their heavier cloaks, the Heads of Houses were frantically arranging their students into poorly-constructed lines.

“Weasley, straighten your hat,” Professor McGonagall called to him as she passed, making her way to the front, “Follow me please!”

The mass of energetic students filed their way out of the large oak doors, stepping into the crisp evening air. Dusk was just beginning to fall, the moon shining translucently over top of the Forbidden Forest. As ordered, they all lined up in front of the castle, the fourth-year Gryffindors taking up their place in the fourth row from the front.

“Nearly six,” said Ron, his watch glinting in the evening light, “How do you reckon they’re coming?”

“Surely not by train,” Hermione answered.

“By broomsticks?” offered Harry. All four sets of eyes glanced up towards the indigo sky, searching expectantly.

“Suppose they could use a Portkey,” added Gemma, glancing at her friends.

“Or Apparate,” said Ron.

Hermione sighed impatiently.

“How many times do I have to tell you, you can’t Apparate inside the Hogwarts grounds!”

Their gazes all retrained on the horizon, flicking back at forth as they searched for any sign of motion. Suddenly, Dumbledore's voice echoed across the grounds from somewhere far behind them.

“Unless I’m mistaken, it appears that the delegation from Beauxbatons is approaching now!”

The excited hum that had been buzzing above the students rose into a symphony of eager yells and shouts, heads swiveling in every direction as they tried to get the first glimpse of the mysterious guests.

“There!” someone shouted, finger pointing toward where the sky met the tops of the trees over the forest.

A giant black shape was skimming overhead, the light from the castle reflecting off its rounded sides. As it neared, coming fully into focus, collective gasps could be heard from the watching crowd. A powder-blue horse-drawn carriage, bigger than the average house, was soaring through the air.

Drawn by at least a dozen over-sized winged horses, the first few rows of students had to stumble backward hastily as their hooves hit the manicured lawn. The carriage came next, coming to a screeching landing on the groomed grass, a coat of arms emblazoned on the side. The horses whined, tossing their long golden manes away from their bright, red eyes as they pawed at the earth.

The door swung open, a boy dressed in pale blue robes jumping down and unfurling a set of golden steps before stepping back respectfully. Then, from the depths of the rounded compartment, came the largest woman any of them had ever seen, the questionable size of the carriage answered immediately as she clambered to the ground.

The woman’s silk, black robes were nothing compared to the gleaming stones set around her neck, the warm light flooding out from the entrance hall catching their shiny surfaces. Gemma, Ron, Harry, and Hermione all exchanged equally shocked looks.

Dumbledore began to clap as he stepped forward to greet her, the rest of the students following suit in raising their applause. The already-tall Headmaster barely had to bend in order to kiss the large woman’s hand politely.

“My dear Madame Maxine,” he said, “Welcome to Hogwarts.”

“Thank you Dumbly-dorr,” Madame Maxine drawled. She gestured back behind her towards the still waiting carriage, “My pupils.”

A dozen boys and girls emerged from the flying vehicle, all coming to stand alongside their Headmistress. They all appeared to be shivering slightly, which wasn’t surprising seeing as they were all dressed in periwinkle blue robes that seemed to me made solely of fine silk. The Beauxbatons students gave each other nervous glances as they stared up at the towering castle above them.

“The lake!” Lee Jordan’s shout could be heard above the dying murmurs, ripping everyone's attention away from the blue-clad arrivals. His arm was outstretched as he gestured toward the black abyss. Gemma shivered at the sight of it’s retreating tide.

The water seemed to ripple from somewhere in the center, bubbles forming on the surface as the waves rose higher on the barren bank. Slowly, a whirlpool, similar to the one Mad-Eye had conjured up in their class at beginning of the term, began to form. From its depths, a long black pole began to emerge.

“It’s a mast!” Harry said to the three of them.

The ship rose out of the water, it’s dripping sails glittering in the moonlight. It was oddly skeletal, as if it had sunk long ago and only recently been raised and repurposed. It emerged in its entirety, misty lights shimmering from its numerous portholes giving it a ghostly stare. It bobbed up and down as it crested its way closer to the shore, a heavy anchor sailing over the side and embedding itself into the muddy shallows. People were disembarking from its many levels, eery shadows against the night. They drew nearer, all largely built and draped in robes of thick fur.

“Dumbledore!” called the man leading them all up the hill, his hair a sleek and shiny silver, “How are you?”

“Wonderful, Professor Karkaroff,” replied Dumbledore.

“Dear old Hogwarts, how good it is to be here!” Karkaroff glanced behind him, “Viktor, come along into the warmth now. He has a slight head cold, I hope you don’t mind, Dumbledore.”

Dumbledore shook his head, further beckoning the boy closer. Ron practically toppled over Hermione and Gemma as he reached for Harry.

“Harry, it’s Krum!”

“Oh, for Heaven’s sake, Ron!” Hermione groaned, swatting him off of her. Gemma winced as he roughly shook her by the shoulder. “He’s only a Quidditch player.”

“Only a Quidditch player?” Ron looked at Hermione like she’d just grown another five heads.

Gemma shook her own, chuckling to herself. Whilst Ron’s reaction was a bit over the top, Gemma couldn’t deny that being in the presence of Viktor Krum was not a position she'd ever imagined herself in. He was one of the best Seekers in the world, and she had been extremely jealous at the prospect of Harry and Ron getting to see him live and in action at the Quidditch World Cup that summer.

The masses of students began to file their way back into the entrance hall, turning to trudge their way back up the stone steps. Several older girls were frantically searching their persons as they walked ahead, trying to find something they could use to get Krum’s autograph. Hermione rolled her eyes at them. Gemma came up alongside her friend, linking their arms.

“Oh, let him have his fun,” said Gemma, inclining her head towards a still babbling Ron with a smile. She and Hermione entered the Great Hall together, taking up their usual spots toward the middle of the Gryffindor table.

“Why didn’t they bring any cloaks?” Hermione questioned, narrowed gaze watching as the Beauxbatons students sat down at the far end of the Ravenclaw table, closest to the doors. They were all still shivering in their shiny silver boots. She threw a harsh glare at Ron as he tried to shove her out of the way. “What was that for?”

“Argh, Hermione! Great, now they’ve gone to sit with Malfoy,” Ron grumbled angrily, flopping miserably into his seat. Gemma observed as the Durmstrang students made their way over to the Slytherin table, Viktor sliding onto the long bench right next to Draco. Her brow furrowed as Draco leaned over, saying something to Krum she couldn’t quite make out from across the room.

“Good evening, ladies and gentlemen,” Dumbledore spoke, effectively hushing the chatter of the mingling students and drawing their gazes to the front of the hall, “I have great pleasure in welcoming you all to Hogwarts. I hope and trust that your stay here will be both comfortable and enjoyable.”

Hermione mumbled her annoyance as the twinkling laughter of a Beauxbaton student met their ears.

“The tournament will be officially opened at the end of the feast. Those who are eligible may put their names in the Goblet of Fire, from which it will select our champions tomorrow evening,” continued Dumbledore, “Now, please, enjoy the feast and make yourselves at home.”

They all tucked into their dinners immediately, the hunger they’d forgotten at the excitement of the other schools’ arrival catching up with them as they piled their plates high with a variety of meats and pastries. The duration of the meal was spent with Hermione and Ron arguing over the bouillabaisse, Harry shaking his head at their banter, and Gemma basking in the easiness of it all.

When she finally set down her fork, her stomach successfully satiated, she couldn’t help but smile. Her year so far had been spent stressed and strained, whether it was over the strange photograph, her studies, or her dreaded ongoing detention.

But at that moment, under the enchanted ceiling with her friends at her side and the start of the tournament turning the corner, Gemma felt calmer than she had in months.

__

Despite the next morning being a Saturday, Gemma, Harry, Ron, and Hermione all found themselves up early. When they entered the Great Hall just after dawn, it was already decently crowded. Twenty or so students were milling about, all examining the Goblet of Fire as it stood on its pedestal in the center, blue flames licking at its old and cracked rim. There was a thin, glowing golden line surrounding it, making a circle that was roughly ten feet around in each direction. A third-year girl was standing near the edge, nibbling on a piece of toast.

“Has anyone put their name in yet?” Gemma asked her, peering up at the towering cup.

“All the Durmstrang lot,” she answered, “But I haven’t seen anyone from Hogwarts yet.”

“Some of them probably put theirs in last night,” said Harry, coming to stand alongside Gemma as he eyed the flaming relic. An abrupt bought of laughter behind them had them twisting their heads towards its source. Fred and George were hurrying down the grand marble staircase, Lee Jordan following in their wake.

“We’ve just taken it,” Fred whispered, grasping Harry and Ron by the necks playfully, roughing up their hair. Ron wrenched away from his brother's grip, confusion written on his face.

“Taken what?”

“Why, the Aging Potion, of course,” said Fred.

“One drop each,” piped George, clapping his hands together, “We only need to be a few months older.”

“This isn’t going to work, you know,” Hermione warned, crossing her arms over her chest defiantly, “Dumbledore is one of the greatest Wizards in the world, he isn’t going to be fooled by a silly Aging Potion.”

“We’ll see about that,” said Fred. He turned to his brother and Lee, eyebrows raised, “Ready?”

“Let’s do this!" said George.

Fred went first. Approaching the line, he carefully placed his foot beyond it and paused. Nothing happened.

He stepped fully into the circle, grinning. George let out a whoop of triumph, jumping straight over the line to join him. He landed next to Fred, both brothers were beaming and high-fiving each other. Gemma and Hermione exchanged doubtful glances, Harry and Ron both looking surprised.

Gemma was almost convinced they’d done it when suddenly, a loud sizzling sound bounced off the walls of the Great Hall, and Fred and George were sent hurtling from the circle. They landed hard on the stone floor a few meters away from the Goblet, both sporting long, white beards. Laughter erupted from everyone who’d witnessed their failed attempt, the twins joining in as they pointed at each other's elaborate facial hair.

“I did warn you,” said Dumbledore as he entered the Great Hall, an amused smile on his face, “I advise you go see Madam Pomfrey to get those taken care of.”

Gemma and her friends were still spouting bouts of laughter as they sat down for breakfast a few minutes later. They watched the proceedings as they ate, a few other older Gryffindors and Ravenclaws putting their names in the Goblet. Gemma was surprised she hadn’t seen Cedric yet. She’d thought he’d enter, considering he was of age and had seemed interested based on the few conversations they'd had.

She found herself wondering what she would do if she was seventeen. The tournament did sound interesting, and the hefty prize money was certainly a plus, but based on the history it didn’t seem to be one of the safest endeavors. Gemma wasn’t like Harry, she didn’t want to actively seek out danger. She preferred to stay hidden, out of the way. Though, arguably, becoming friends with the Boy Who Lived was perhaps not the route to take if one wanted to stay out of the spotlight. Still, just because she was friends with Harry didn’t mean she wanted any part of what his family name or miraculous near-miss of death entailed.

She watched as Angelina entered the circle, the fire engulfing her piece of parchment as it disappeared amongst the smoke.

Gemma was certain. Even if given the opportunity, there was no way she’d ever put her name in the Goblet of Fire.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> DISCLAIMER: 
> 
> I do not own any of the original Harry Potter characters, world, or plot. The stories and their livelihood belong to J.K. Rowling. Any characters, world-building, or plotlines that diverge from the original books alternatively are mine.
> 
> This story is also posted on Wattpad under the same username 'lacedpink'. Both of these accounts are owned by me. Any other postings are not authorized unless explicitly stated.


	13. Chosen

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter contains direct quotes from 'Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire'. All credit to J.K. Rowling.

**_Chapter 13_ **  
**_C_ ** **_HOSEN_ **

_chosen_  
_(_ _v.) to be selected; preferred_

**IT** was still dark in the Slytherin dormitories when Draco awoke on Saturday morning, the only sliver of light coming from underneath the shut bedroom door. He turned lazily onto his side, watching as the parading of footsteps outside cast dancing shadows along the floorboards.

With a groan, he folded the pillow over his ears, trying to block out the not-so-quiet chatter as his older housemates trickled down the staircase. It was too bloody early for him to be awake, especially on a weekend.

But alas, anyone over the age of seventeen was eager to throw their names into the burning Goblet, and the ruckus they were causing didn't seem to be settling down anytime soon.

Grumbling irritably to himself, Draco sat up, barely parting the deep emerald curtains of his four-poster as he peered at his still sleeping roommates. Both Crabbe and Goyle were completely out, only Crabbe's twitching foot leaving a visible indentation in the hangings indicated he was alive at all. Blaise's bed was already empty, where he'd run off to a complete mystery, leaving Theodore Nott the only soul apart from Draco out of bed.

Theo gave Draco a quirk of his eyebrow as the blonde-haired boy began to tug on his uniform.

"What you look so bloody peeved about this early?" Theo asked, tugging the tail of his striped tie through its noose.

Draco didn't answer as he continued to dress, slipping into a pair of fine grey trousers. His father had finally replied to his letter notifying him of his detention. His owl had delivered the message late the previous night upon his return from the welcoming feast, its eyes as beady and judgmental as the man who'd sent it.

It had been a short and concise note, barely a paragraph etched into the crisp and clean parchment and sealed with a waxy black Malfoy family crest.

_Draco—_

_I heard through a source at the Ministry that Viktor Krum will be staying at Hogwarts for the duration of the tournament. Perhaps making acquaintances with someone of a higher caliber will inspire you to not make a total disgrace of our family name._

_Just a thought._

His father hadn't even bothered to sign the brief letter, and after reading it's useless contents, Draco and chucked it into the fire without another thought. His father wanted him to play politics, a position he often thrust his son into when he couldn't do it himself.

Draco was simply a chess piece in Lucius' game of life, moving him about to his advantage, the threat of smashing him to smithereens if he failed a constant guillotine.

The sharp blade felt especially near that day, the sting of metal tickling the back of Draco's neck as he finished pulling on his robes. He thumbed over the small sheets of paper in his pocket, counting them silently in his head as he slid his wand inside and strode towards the door.

"Common Nott," he said over his shoulder, tone slick with frost as he exited the dorm.

Draco Malfoy was not a morning person.

As he and Theo emerged from the dank staircase and into the Entrance Hall, it was clear the crowd surrounding the Goblet was rather sizable in comparison to the night before. At least thirty students stood around the circle, all watching eagerly as they took turns stepping inside the magical ring and placing their names in the cup.

They all appeared to be laughing heartily at two people who had found themselves face first a few meters away from the Goblet. Draco rolled his eyes as Dumbledore bemused the twins, disgust gnawing at his abdomen.

How the wretched Weasley's were ever allowed to attend Hogwarts, he'd never understood.

He continued his path across the foyer, pausing only when he realized his companion was no longer at his side. Draco paused, turning back to where Theo still stood clutching his stomach.

"Right morons," he wheezed, slapping at Draco's arm as his roommate drew closer again, his other hand pointed at Fred and George's retreating backs, "Did you get a look at that!"

Letting out a harsh breath through his nose, Draco's eyes closed on their own accord as he tried to restrain himself from smacking Theo upside the head. He didn't have to, though, as A second later, a dainty but fierce manicured hand made contact with Theo's left ear, causing the guffawing boy to stumble slightly, turning abruptly on his assailant.

Pansy Parkinson was standing alongside them, dressed in her perfectly pressed Slytherin uniform, arms crossed over her chest as she glared at him. Her cropped, raven hair shown menacingly in the lamplight, the hazy weather outside adding to the doom-and-gloom like cloud that surrounded her. She was tapping a pointer finger against the opposite forearm, almost like an impatient professor waiting for her class to grow quiet.

"Stop making a fool of yourself, Nott, and get to breakfast," Pansy shoved Theo with a forceful push, his feet beginning to move in the direction of the open dining hall doors again.

"Oy," he grumbled, "No need to be so violent about it."

Pansy ignored his retort, simply following behind him as the three of them began to make their way over to their house table. A few of the Durmstrang students were already sat there, plates fittingly piled high with food as they chatted amongst themselves.

Draco recoiled slightly as Pansy linked her right arm through his, not allowing him to protest as they maneuvered their way to their usual spot on the bench. She finally released him once they'd sat down, Draco immediately shifting so that they were no longer touching.

He hated when she did that, touched him without his permission. She always seemed to think just because he didn't actively insult her to her face, she was allowed to do things that concerned him without asking.

Pansy gave him a disapproving look at his slight, her brown eyes unsettlingly cool, before turning her back on him and starting up a conversation with Daphne Greengrass about something Draco couldn't be bothered to pay attention to.

Instead, he grabbed a few pieces of toast from the center of the table, gnawing at the dry bread halfheartedly before letting it drop unceremoniously back onto the golden plate. He didn't have much of an appetite. His father's letter was still playing on a continuous loop across his frontal lobe, making any attempt at thinking of something else futile.

Instinctively, Draco's hands reached into his robe pockets, thumbing a piece of paper from their depths. He pulled out a small, white square, beginning to fold its edges by memory as he stared off across the Great Hall.

Without meaning to, he found himself searching for an unfortunately familiar flash of red silk as his gaze settled on the Gryffindor table.

She was laughing at something one of her housemates had said, her brown waves cascading around her shoulders in a way that was irritatingly satisfying. The signature ribbon holding half of it up whipped back and forth as she tossed her head, clearly finding whatever they were talking about very funny.

Hermione poked Gemma's shoulder, interrupting her laughter, and she stood along with the rest of her friends. Draco could see she was clutching a book to her chest as she began to walk towards the doors, and his mind automatically recalled the discussion that had taken place during their last detention.

Well, he wasn't really sure if that counted as a discussion. It had mostly consisted of him yelling, and her sitting there looking annoyingly unfazed. When he'd tossed the chair, he'd thought he'd finally seen a flicker of a fear pass across her features, but it had passed as quickly as it came.

He had left their detention just as aggravated as he always did.

And the worst part was what she'd said right before he left. About understanding what it felt like to want to escape your own mind. He hated it.

Because he couldn't have described it any better.

The tell-tale taste of bile rose in his mouth at the idea of having something in common with the Gryffindor girl, and Draco pushed his plate even further away from him. He stared at the bottom of his goblet as he drained it in one swig, gulping down the chilled pumpkin juice.

When he set it back down, his gaze met Theo's quizzical one.

"What?" said Draco, hand flicking questioningly.

Theo didn't shy away from his friend's glacial tone.

"You've been a real dickhead lately," said Theo.

"He's always a dickhead," said Pansy, cutting in.

"More than usual," Theo amended, taking a large bite out of a piece of bacon.

He chewed for a moment, his Adam's apple bobbing as he swallowed thickly, "So what's the deal? Still riled up over losing to Hufflepuff?"

Draco scoffed, cracking his knuckles in a series of painful sounding pops.

"Please, those bloody badgers got lucky. Diggory only caught the Snitch before me because he has Madam Hooch bagged. She tipped him off."

"Diggory and Hooch, huh? Now that's a pairing I'd pay to see," said Theo, his grin long and joking, "The Golden Boy playing naughty with a professor."

Even Draco couldn't help but snicker at that one, the idea of old Madam Hooch getting it on with a student in the equipment shed admittedly hilarious.

"Oh, please," said Pansy, "He's pissed about having to spend all his free time with that filthy Bane bitch. Because he got himself hexed and landed detention for the rest of the year."

Theo's laughs trailed off unsure as he watched Draco's brows draw tighter. Pansy didn't seem to notice the blonde boy's sharp change in demeanor.

"For fucks sake, Pansy," Draco spat, "I'm not your fucking puppet. I don't need you speaking for me."

He stood up from the table rapidly, his knee sending the silverware clattering down the line, causing a few first years to jump and the sudden noise. He'd been ridiculed enough by his father in his reply, he didn't need anyone else undermining him. Especially not Pansy.

Pansy had become a part of their small cohort sometime around second year. Draco couldn't recall exactly how she'd managed to worm her way into his, Blaise, and Theo's small circle, but she'd laughed at their jokes and joined in on their jabs at the Gryffindors, so no one had argued.

She'd been the only girl in the group since, and sometimes it seemed like the associated status got to her head. She didn't so much as play mother amongst them, but she seemed to think she knew what was best for the boys, acting as their unappointed manager at times.

Theo shook his head at her, pinching the bridge of his nose briefly before standing up as well.

Pansy simply took another bite of her porridge, unfazed as she turned to Daphne. She was used to their attitudes. She watched Draco and Theo's retreating backs as they made their way out of the Great Hall.

"Dramatic asshole."

Draco flipped her off over his shoulder.

He descended the stairs to the Dungeons two at a time, his stride wide and fast. Theo struggled to keep up as he trailed behind, barely making it through the common room entrance before the stones rearranged themselves into an impenetrable wall again as he muttered a few choice curse words at Draco's back.

When the boys entered the chilled sitting area it was deserted, everyone else still enjoying their breakfasts. The only person in the unoccupied space sat lounged on the black velvet couch, a book on his lap, parchment littered across the dark-stained table.

Blaise looked up from his papers as Draco stormed over, throwing himself down into one of the vacant armchairs. Theo settled into the other remaining one, kicking his feet up as Blaise gave him a glare of annoyance, Theo's dirty shoes smeared the unset ink.

For a moment, none of the boys said anything. Draco just continued to gaze unseeingly into the smoldering fireplace. Blaise looked as if he wanted to ask, but a shake of the head from Theo told him it would be better for all of them if he didn't.

Instead, Theo spoke up, breaking the awkward silence.

"Where were you this morning Zabini?"

"Library," said Blaise, closing the book on his lap, "Trying to get this load of bollocks done before the champions are chosen tonight."

"Watch it," Theo teased, "You're starting to sound like grubby Granger."

Blaise chuckled, kicking his feet up alongside Theo's, effectively destroying any progress he'd made so far.

"I'd rather die than be compared to the Mudblood," he said bitterly, crossing his arms.

"So, speaking of the tournament," continued Theo, "Who do you reckon is going to be the Hogwarts champion?"

Blaise shrugged his shoulders noncommittally. Theo kicked the table harshly, the sound purposefully startlingly Draco out of his dreary reverie.

He blinked slowly.

"I couldn't give less of a fuck."

Then, in what was becoming his usual fashion, he stood and exited the room without even a word of acknowledgment to the only people still willing to call themselves his friends. 

"What's with him?" asked Blaise, gesturing toward the stairs that led up to the boys' dormitories once Draco was well out of earshot.

Theo patted Blaise's arm in a falsely comforting manner, his face in a faux-serious frown.

"Don't take it personally Zabini," he said, "It's the daddy issues."

__

Draco managed to escape to the Astronomy Tower just before lunch, effectively ignoring Blaise, Theo, and thankfully Pansy as well as he slunk out of the dorm.

He spent the majority of the day in the chilled pre-Winter air, watching the landscape absentmindedly as his hands folded squares of parchment numbly. By the time the bells sounded overhead signaling the beginning of dinner, he had counted thirty-three new editions to his slowly growing paper swan collection. He didn't keep them all. In fact, he threw out most, only keeping a few in his pocket if there was no waste bin nearby.

He finished the final crease of his current project, the tiny beak completing the figure. The small bird taunted him as he pocketed it, descending back down the spiral stairs as he began to weave his way back through the castle.

When he reached the candlelit Great Hall, he could tell it was almost full, the loud chatter of students meeting his ears as he entered. The Goblet of Fire had been moved from its centered pedestal. It now stood directly in front of Dumbledore's vacant chair, high and mighty above the clearly restless audience.

Draco slid into his spot on the Slytherin bench, Theo, Blaise, and Pansy all sharing a knowing glance at his cold-twinged cheeks and nose. He glanced around the hall, taking notice of the obvious change in decor. He wasn't sure if it had been that way early in the day and he had missed it, or if the house-elves had just conjured it up during his astrological escapade.

There were large, orange jack-o-lanterns suspended from the ceiling, each glowing from their carved grins as they smiled menacingly down upon the students sitting below. The tables held centerpieces of intricately woven festive garlands, baubles of orange and gold glittering amongst them.

Draco had forgotten it was Halloween.

The food was just as extravagant as the previous night's feast, and the smells that wafted from the serving dishes were tantalizing. A result of his lack of appetite that morning had Draco reaching for a hefty helping of meat and potatoes as he ate alongside his housemates.

Viktor Krum and a few of his fellow Durmstrang classmates sat a few paces down, talking amongst themselves throughout the meal. Draco even found himself engaging in light conversation with Blaise and Crabbe, who'd settled himself on Draco's right side.

The few hours he'd spent in the fresh air seeming to have taken some of his characteristic angst with the icy winds.

The Hall was buzzing, necks craning in every direction, impatient expressions plastered on almost everyone's face as the feast dragged on slowly. It seemed as if the entirety of the room was simply waiting for the plates to be cleared so they could move on to the more exciting portion of the evening.

After what seemed like hours, the golden platters finally disappeared from under their noses, a noticeable surge of chatter emerging from the audience as Dumbledore stood up from his seat at the teachers' table. Professor Karakoff and Madam Maxine looked up at him, just as anxious as the onlooking students.

Draco recognized Ludo Bagman and Mr. Crouch standing off to the side. He'd met them both at the Quidditch World Cup with his father, who'd only talked about their incompetence upon their departure.

Based on the way Bagman was waving and winking out at various students, Draco couldn't help but think his father's assumptions weren't too far off.

"Well, the goblet is almost ready to make its decision," said Dumbledore, effectively silencing the rising chatter, "I estimate that it requires one more minute. Now, when the champions' names are called, I would ask them to please come up to the top of the Hall, walk along the staff table, and go through into the next chamber—" he gestured toward a door just off said table, "where they will be receiving their first instructions."

Dumbledore brandished his wand, waving it in a great sweeping motion as he plummeted the entirety of the Great Hall into almost complete darkness. The only source of light came from within the depths of the still gleaming pumpkins, and from the mouth of the Goblet. The blue flames shone even brighter in the dimness, sparkling almost painfully.

Everyone seemed to shift in restlessness.

Then, as if on cue, the flames began to flicker more violently, the hazy blue begins to turn a vibrant shade of red. Sparks shot over its sides, cascading over the stone rim, some of the students in the first few rows having to whisk the ends of their robes out of the way so that they didn't ignite.

A moment later, a delicate, charred piece of parchment fluttered out of the fire, the whole room gasping collectively. Dumbledore caught the paper, holding it at arm's length so that he could read it by the light of the flames, which had returned to their normal blue-white tone.

"The champion for Durmstrang," he read, strong and clear, "Will be Viktor Krum!"

A storm of applause met his announcement, people from all houses and schools cheering as the famous Seeker rose from his seat at the Slytherin table. Viktor nodded at Draco as he passed, a sly grin slinking its way onto his features as if he'd expected his victorious outcome all along.

"Bravo, Viktor!" Karkaroff's voice boomed loudly, "Knew you had it in you!"

The clapping and jeering died down just as quickly as it had risen as the goblet began to spark and change colors again, a second piece of parchment shooting out of it.

"The champion for Beauxbatons," said Dumbledore, reading the paper, "is Fleur Delacour!"

Pansy's eyes seemed to narrow at the fair-haired French girl as she gracefully rose from the Ravenclaw table.

Instead of her schoolmates cheering for her like Krum's, a few had appeared to have dissolved into hysterics, clearly upset that it had not been their names which had come sputtering out of the flaming goblet. Fleur floated her way up the aisle, her silky uniform glinting silver in the blue light, chin held high. When she too had vanished into the room off to the side, the chamber fell silent again.

The Hogwarts champion was next.

The goblet turned red once again, a rain of sparks cascading over its sides, its flames licking the air. Dumbledore plucked the third piece of parchment from the center.

"The Hogwarts champion," he called, "is Cedric Diggory!"

Simultaneously, every single Hufflepuff stood from their seats, jumping up and down as they shouted their approval. Cedric made his way up to the front of the room, beaming widely and giving high-fives as he headed off toward where Viktor and Fleur had already disappeared.

The applause seemed to be never-ending, and Dumbledore had to clap his hands loudly in order to refocus the students' attention.

"Excellent!" Dumbledore exclaimed happily, "Well, now we have our three champions. I am sure I can count on all of you to give your champions every ounce of support you can muster as they take on the tasks ahead of them. By cheering your champion on, you will contribute in a very real—"

Dumbledore stopped speaking suddenly, his abrupt distraction evident. The fire in the goblet had turned red again, spitting sparks so high they disappeared into the clouded ceiling. A long flame shot out of it, and floating in its midst was what appeared to be another piece of parchment.

Dumbledore seized it from mid-air, holding it out as he stared at the name upon it.

There was an achingly long pause, Dumbledore staring unblinkingly at the slip of paper in his hand, and everyone staring back at him. He cleared his throat, and read out the name—

"Harry Potter."

Heads swiveled in the direction of the Gryffindor table in an instant. Draco watched as Potter's friends all turned to gape at him. Weasley seemed to have unhinged his jaw as he stared open-mouthed at Harry. Granger appeared to nudge Harry's leg, and the spectacled boy started, glancing around reverently as he stood from his seat.

No one knew what to say as they watched him make his way up to the front of the Hall, hands fidgeting nervously at his sides. Without another word, Potter and the rest of the teachers all clambered off into the side room, the goblet left as a lonely guardian on its pedestal.

As soon as the door was shut securely behind them, a murmur began to hum amongst the remaining students.

"Of course, bloody Potter steals the show again," muttered Pansy in a biting, hushed tone.

A wave of agreement rose from their fellow Slytherins, people nodding their heads up and down the rows. Even those from Beauxbatons and Durmstrang were looking around confusedly, unsure of what to do, as their heads had disappeared along with the rest of the Hogwarts staff.

Draco sighed impatiently to himself. What did it matter if both Harry and Cedric were chosen? Personally, he'd love to watch Potter fail miserably in front of the entire school.

The chatter continued as the minutes dragged on, the tightly shut door not seeming to open anytime soon. A few of the prefects stood, talking over tables to each other as they tried to decide whether they should take their houses back to their dormitories.

But then, as if the night couldn't get any stranger, a rattling noise began to echo against the walls of the Great Hall.

Eyes darted back and forth as they tried to discern where the source of the odd sound was coming from. The goblet had begun to quake, rattling as it shook on its stand. Shocked gasps could be heard making their way around the room as people nearest it backed up in fear. It rocked tremulously, teetering dangerously close to the edge of the stool.

Ignited from some source within it, red flames erupted from the cup for the fifth time that evening. This time, they spilled in waves over the sides, flowing onto the floor in streams that disappeared before they hit the steps. Sparks were flying everywhere, a few singing a few unlucky student's noses as they rained down on the awestruck crowd.

Dumbledore appeared shaken and wide-eyed, throwing open the door at the sound of chaos. He too watched on dumbfounded, as another piece of parchment shot of the Goblet. It hung in the air for just a second, high above their heads, before gently floating down, down, down.

Draco watched as it settled itself on a table across the room, falling in front of a mass of golden waves and silk ribbon.

Gemma Bane stared at the small slip of paper on her plate, her own name looking back at her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> DISCLAIMER:
> 
> I do not own any of the original Harry Potter characters, world, or plot. The stories and their livelihood belong to J.K. Rowling. Any characters, world-building, or plotlines that diverge from the original books alternatively are mine.
> 
> This story is also posted on Wattpad under the same username 'lacedpink'. Both of these accounts are owned by me. Any other postings are not authorized unless explicitly stated.


	14. Schwellenangst

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter contains direct quotes from 'Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire'. All credit to J.K. Rowling.

**_Chapter 14_ **   
**_S_** **_CHWELLENANGST_ **

_schwellenangst_  
 _(_ _n.) fear of embarking on something new_

 **GEMMA** read the name on the small, slightly burnt bit of parchment over and over again. The letters seemed to swim in front of her eyes, not making any sense as they danced back and forth on the paper. It couldn't say her name, it was simply not possible. She wasn't seventeen, she hadn't been able to place it in the Goblet even if she had wanted to.

And yet there it was, taunting her from where it had landed on her golden plate.

_Gemma Bane_

The Great Hall was completely engulfed in silence, not a single person daring to breathe a word as they awaited her reaction. The only source of movement came from the jack-o-lanterns, their candles still emitting a flickering, eery light, and the Goblet whose blue flames continued to burn brightly at the top of the hall.

Dumbledore was still standing flabbergasted in the doorway, also not saying anything as he took in the sight before him. Gemma blinked again, trying to get the small ink strokes to focus into something that made more sense. Only when Hermione nudged her foot underneath the table did she look up.

"Gemma!" Hermione hissed quietly, her loafer making light contact with Gemma's sock-covered shin.

Hermione tilted her head in the direction of the staff table, her gaze locking with Gemma's petrified one. The hint slowly clicking inside her mind, Gemma stood on shaking legs, stepping over the bench as everyone watched on like tombstones in a graveyard, still and unmoving.

She turned back abruptly, realizing she should take the parchment slip with her, only to clumsily knock over not only her own, but Ron's Goblet as well. The clattering cups echoed in the stiff air, reverberating against the ceiling loudly, although Gemma barely even registered it.

Paper clenched in her sweaty grip, she made her way up the aisle past all her housemates. She could feel their eyes on her, the same questions swarming her mind on the tips of all their tongues.

She flexed her fingers, her hands feeling numb—the stretch from the Gryffindor table to the front of the hall felt like the longest minute of her entire life. It was as if she'd just been sentenced to death, and her peers were bearing witness to her final walk before execution.

As she neared Dumbledore, she almost believed it was. The headmaster's face was completely blank, not even a slight furrow of his brow to indicate what he was thinking. He moved aside slightly to let Gemma through.

She wasn't sure why she hesitated, her fate already sealed the minute the Goblet spit back her name. It was almost as if stepping over the threshold would make everything real. If she didn't enter the room, didn't face the other champions and professors, she could almost pretend like she was still asleep in her four-poster, dreaming.

"Go on, then," said Dumbledore when she still had not entered.

Gemma tucked her chin bashfully, passing fully into the room. It was decently small and dimly lit, the stones of the floor all varying shades of browns to match the drapery.

Hundreds of portraits of various witches and wizards lined the walls, their faces cast in the torchlight. They all turned to look at Gemma as she approached the roaring fireplace, a few of them darting into nearby frames to whisper amongst themselves.

Dumbledore shut the door behind them with a hefty slam, causing Gemma to jump slightly where she stood. The other occupants of the room attention all snapped to her at the abrupt noise, the expected shock sparking in the warmth. Viktor and Harry stood near the mantle each leaning against the brick, Cedric and Fleur were both seated on the lone velour chaise in front of the hearth. Their shadows cast pictures against the walls, each of them silhouetted by the flames. Fleur was the first one of the small group to speak.

"What iz it now?" she asked, her accent thick and smothering.

Gemma felt Dumbledore's tall presence behind her as she came to a stop just in front of them, the toes of her patent shoes just barely brushing the ornate rug.

"It appears as though the Goblet is full of surprises tonight," said the Hogwarts headmaster, addressing the room.

"Extraordinary!" said Ludo Bagman, who had been standing off to the side alongside Barty Crouch and Professor McGonagall.

He maneuvered his way through the pack to grasp Gemma's hand firmly in his own, giving it a hearty shake.

Gemma recoiled at the sudden gesture, eyes wide.

"Absolutely extraordinary! Gentleman...lady. It seems as if we have a _fifth_ Triwizard champion!"

Viktor Krum's mouth seemed to turn down even more than it's natural set, his face darkening. Fleur looked confusedly at Madam Maxine, who's shrug of her extremely large shoulders gave an indication she had no clue what was going on either. Then came Cedric, who was pinching his bottom lip between his forefinger and thumb as if trying to discern how on earth an extra two names had managed to emerge from the Goblet.

Finally, Harry was staring at Gemma with a smile. His cheeks pushed up into a grin at the sight of his friend, ecstatic that they couldn't place all the blame on him if he wasn't the only one affected by the discrepancy.

Gemma's expression remained neutral, her brain still five steps behind in comprehending what was going on.

"Oh, this is going to be so exciting! _Three_ Hogwarts champions? Why, I don't know that there's ever been such a thing," exclaimed Bagman, clapping his hands together enthusiastically, "But, alas, the Goblet has spoken. And much like Mr. Potter here," he grabbed Harry roughly by the shoulder, "It's down to the rules, you're obliged..."

"What is the meaning of this Dumbly-door?" asked Madam Maxine, the black feathers around her collar tickling her chin as she pointed it downward at Dumbledore.

"I'd rather like to know that myself," said Professor Karkaroff, who's steely smile and sticking blue eyes were icily piercing, "First Harry Potter, now this girl," he waved a hand flippantly at Gemma, "I don't remember anyone telling me the host school was allowed more than one champion — or have I not read the rules enough? I mean, two was unfair, but three? Now, that's just straight-up cheating."

" _C'est impossible!"_ said Madame Maxine, "Hogwarts cannot have three champions. It iz most unjust."

"We were under the impression that your Age Line would keep out younger contestants, Dumbledore," added Karkaroff, his insincere smile transforming into more of an angry grimace.

"Otherwise we would have brought along a wider selection of candidates from our own schools."

"It's no one's fault but Mr. Potter's and Miss Bane's," spoke Snape irritably from his stance against one of the lone bookcases.

"Don't go blaming Dumbledore for their determination to break the rules. Potter has been crossing line's ever since he arrived here, and Miss Bane's gotten mixed up in him and his friend's shenanigans on multiple occasions—"

"Thank you, Severus," said Dumbledore, cutting off the Potions professor effectively with a flourish of his hand.

Snape went quiet, but his glare still bore into Gemma so much so that she shifted on her feet. Her palms were growing increasingly damp from nerves, the familiar tang of fresh blood on her tongue as she chewed at her bottom lip. They all had to be out of their minds to think either her or Harry actually managed to enter their names into the tournament.

Professor Dumbledore stepped into the center of the small circle they'd all subconsciously formed, turning first to look at Harry.

"Did you put your name in the Goblet of Fire, Harry?" he asked calmly.

"No," said Harry, shaking his head determinedly. Dumbledore turned to Gemma next.

"And did you put your name in the Goblet of Fire, Gemma?"

Gemma also shook her head, hair whipping her cheeks lightly at the movement.

"No," she said.

"Did either of you ask an older student to put your names into the Goblet of Fire for you?" said Dumbledore, ignoring Snape's snort of disbelief.

Harry and Gemma answered in unison.

"No."

"Ah, but of course ze are lying!" yelped Madam Maxine, "Professor Snape said so himself, ze are friends! Ze conspired together to..to-" She trailed off, fanning herself with an enormous manicured hand.

"They could not have crossed the Age Line," said Professor McGonagall pointedly, "I am sure we are all agreed on that—"

"Dumbly-dorr must have made a mistake with ze line then," bit back Madame Maxine.

"It is possible," offered Dumbledore.

"Dumbledore, you know as well as I do that you did not make a mistake with the line," Professor McGonagall cut in sharply.

"Such nonsense! Harry, nor Gemma, could have crossed the line by themselves. And seeing as Professor Dumbledore does not believe that either of them persuaded older students to help them, I think that is good enough for everyone."

Snape threw a vapid look at the worked up witch.

"Mr. Crouch, Mr. Bagman," said Karkaroff, breaking through the tension, "Do you not agree that this is most irregular?"

Bagman scratched at a balding spot on his round head, glancing at Crouch who was simply staring non-seeing into the fire. He had a haunting aura, as if he hadn't heard anything anyone had been saying for the past twenty minutes.

Eyes still reflecting the orange firelight, he spoke in his typical taught tenure.

"We just follow the rules, and the rules state clearly that those people whose name come out of the Goblet of Fire are bound to compete in the tournament."

"Barty's memorized the rule book," said Bagman, jerking a thumb at Barty's stiff figure as he grinned oafishly.

He was enjoying the drama a little too much, thought Gemma. Madame Maxine and Karkaroff both immediately started making noises of dissent, speaking over one another.

"Then I wish to resubmit the names of the rest of my students," said Karkaroff, his smile most definitely sinister now, his canines flashing menacingly.

"Me too," added Madam Maxine, "It iz only fair."

"You will set up the Goblet of Fire again, and we will all be allowed two more champions each," demanded Karkaroff.

"I'm afraid it doesn't work like that," said Bagman, coughing awkwardly, "Once the Goblet of Fire has gone out, it won't reignite until the start of the next tournament."

"Well, I can assure you that Durmstrang will not be participating, then. After all our meetings and negotiations, I would expect just a shred of sportsmanship."

A new voice at the door drew everyone's attention.

"It's a binding magical contract. They've all got to compete, now," said Professor Moody, who came hobbling over towards the hot-headed group.

The steam coming from Karakoff's ears was practically visible.

"How convenient," he muttered bitterly.

"Yes, how convenient indeed," said Moody, "Someone clearly put their names in the Goblet knowing they would have to compete if they came out."

"Someone who wished to rig ze entire competition!" cried Madame Maxine.

The five champions all exchanged glances as the adults argued back and forth, shouting over one another. Gemma inched herself closer to Harry, shuffling herself nearer until they were shoulder to shoulder. She didn't dare meet Cedrics inquisitive stare.

"Do you have any idea what happened?" Gemma whispered under her breath. She felt Harry sigh next to her.

"Not a clue," he said, "But I don't think we have much of a choice now."

Gemma adjusted the ribbon in her hair uncomfortably. Viktor and Fleur both seemed as upset as their school heads, arms folded across chests. Dumbledore's voice cut through the yelling, strong and clear over the chaos.

"How this situation arose, we may never know. It seems to me, however, that we have no choice but to accept it," he folded his hands politely in front of him.

"I do understand the concern in terms of fairness. Therefore, we will count only one Hogwarts champions scores per task. Their totals will be collective at the finish of the tournament."

"But Dumbly-dorr—"

"Madame Maxine, if you have any other alternative, I'm sure everyone would be delighted to hear it," said Dumbledore, peering over his glasses at her expectantly.

She was predictably silent.

"Well, it seems as if it's settled then. Cedric's points will be counted for the first task, Harry's for the second, and Gemma's for the third," he turned to Bagman then, "So, shall we get on with it then?"

"Oh!" Bagman started, "Yes, yes! The instructions for the first task! Barty, want to do the honors?"

Mr. Crouch bat his eyes almost sleepily, as if just waking up from a long nap.

He moved into the center, his cheeks gaunt in the evening light. He cleared his throat.

"The first task is designed to test your daring," he said, addressing Harry, Gemma, Viktor, Cedric, and Fleur, "So we will not be telling you what it is. Courage in the face of the unknown is an important quality in a wizard."

He looked at each of the champions in turn as he continued.

"The task will take place on November the twenty-fourth, in front of the other students and a panel of judges. The champions are not permitted to accept help of any kind, that includes from one another."

Gemma and Harry shifted uncomfortably at his directed statement.

"You will only be armed with your wands. Information about the second task will be given to you after your hopefully successful completion of the first. Due to the demanding nature of the tournament, all of you will be excused from your end of year exams."

"Thank you, Barty," said Dumbledore, "I think that is all for tonight. Madame Maxine, Karkaroff, perhaps a drink before you turn in?"

But Madam Maxine was already steering Fleur from the cramped room, same with Karkaroff and Viktor. Dumbledore instead turned to the remaining three champions.

"I advise you go on up to bed now," said the headmaster, smiling unexpectedly.

"I am sure both Gryffindor and Hufflepuff are waiting to celebrate with you all. It would be such a shame to deprive them of reasons to disturb the rest of the castle, wouldn't it?"

Harry, Gemma, and Cedric exchanged weary glances before each nodding in turn.

They all exited side by side, reemerging into the deserted Great Hall. A great big full moon was sitting high and haunting in the enchanted ceiling, the pumpkins and candles nearly extinguished now. None of them spoke as they made their way back toward the towering doors.

They stepped into the Entrance Hall, shoes tapping against the marble as they meandered unsurely. Harry began to move toward the grand staircase, but Gemma paused at its foot, casting a glance back at Cedric. He too stalled in his tracks.

Gemma gave him a weary, half-smile, unsure exactly what to say.

"S'pose we get to play each other now," said Cedric, his lips tilting barely to the side, "It's not Quidditch, but it still ought to be some fun?"

"Yea," said Gemma softly, right hand fiddling with the silk ribbon in her hair, "I guess we do."

"Well, see ya around, then."

"See you," Gemma said defeatedly to his retreating back.

Her heart seemed to sink deeper in her chest as she watched as Cedric disappeared through the portrait leading down to the kitchens. She wasn't sure why she felt so guilty when she hadn't been the one to enter her name. Still, Gemma couldn't help but feel like she was overstepping some unsaid boundary. Cedric had expressed how much he wanted to be chosen for the tournament. And she'd gone and somehow gotten herself mixed up in it, stealing what should've been his moment.

Gemma didn't realize she was still standing there until she heard Harry give a surreptitious cough. She turned to follow him, the two trudging their way back up towards Gryffindor Tower.

"I don't mean to sound rude," Harry spoke suddenly as the pair climbed the numerous amount of steps.

"But why did your name come out of the Goblet? I mean, weird stuff happens to me all the time, and loads of people want me dead. Entering my name is an easy way for them to try and take me out without it looking too suspicious. But why would anyone try and rope you into it too?"

Gemma chuckled lightly to herself, shrugging her shoulders. She wished she knew.

"I don't know," she said, "Maybe it's just someone's idea of a bloody fucked up prank?"

Harry tugged at his tie, loosening its grip on his throat.

"I don't think so. They'd still have to figure out a way to get over the Age Line. We saw how well that went for Fred and George."

They crested the landing, starting down the hallway towards the portrait of the Fat Lady.

"Honestly, I haven't the faintest idea, Harry," said Gemma, "But what's done is done. I suppose we just have to try and make the most of it."

Harry said nothing in response.

They paused outside the common room entrance, both staring up at the Fat Lady. Gemma could feel the same nerves she'd felt in the Great Hall swirling beneath her ribcage again, the idea of seeing all her housemates gnawing at her stomach.

"Ready?" asked Harry.

"As I'll ever be," Gemma breathed.

"Would you two quit being so melodramatic," said the Fat Lady, rolling her eyes, "You'd think you would be more grateful at being chosen as champions."

The Fat Lady was shaking her head disdainfully, clucking her tongue at the women who had come to occupy her frame alongside her.

"Didn't I tell you, Violet," she said to the other witch in the painting, "Ungrateful little brats, the lot of them. Get the chance to represent their house in one of the most renowned tournaments in the entirety of the Wizarding world and they're acting like they've been told they're getting the axe!"

Violet ruffled the bottoms of her oily skirts, pursing her lips as she nodded in agreement at her friend's statement.

"We may as well have been," said Harry irritated.

"You should feel lucky, young man," pruned Violet, gaze narrowing over her thin-framed spectacles, "It is an honor to be a Hogwarts champion!"

She cast a hand over her heart, as if the idea of their disrespect was physically painful. Gemma found herself wondering if paintings could even feel.

"Balderdash," Harry said, not paying mind to the haughty woman.

"Excuse me? It most certainly isn't!"

"No, Vi, it's the password," said the Fat Lady, patting her friend's shoulder comfortingly as she finally swung open on her creaky hinges.

The barrage of noise that greeted Gemma and Harry was earsplitting as they stepped through the portrait hole and into the packed common room. Hands were grasping at their robes from all sides, everyone demanding answers simultaneously. The entirety of Gryffindor house was cheering and applauding, rioting in the tiny space.

"How come you didn't tell us you'd entered," Fred shouted through cupped hands over the ruckus, swinging an arm around each of the champion's shoulders.

"And how'd you do it without getting a beard?" bellowed George, stroking his chin as if he could still feel the phantom hair.

"We didn't," squeaked Gemma, "We don't know how—"

Suddenly Angelina was in front of them, smiling grimly.

"If it couldn't be me, at least it's still a Gryffindor. And two at that!"

Gemma and Harry tried to continue to fight their way through the crowd, neither particularly in the mood for celebrating. Both were tired and confused, and Gemma personally just wanted to collapse into the plush mattress awaiting her upstairs.

"We got food from the kitchens!" came a shout from the crowd.

"What did Dumbledore say?" called another.

"Oh, what I wouldn't give to be trapped in a small room with Cedric Diggory for an hour," crooned someone else.

Lee Jordan descended on the two, a large Gryffindor banner held in his arms. He ceremoniously draped it over their shoulders, effectively wrapping them up in the red and gold vinyl like it was a winter cloak.

Katie Bell thrust two overflowing pints of butterbeer into both of their hands, the frothing caramel-colored liquid spilling down the front of Gemma's robes. She groaned softly as they continued to push their way through towards the dormitory stairs. Hermione and Ron didn't appear to be anywhere in the masses of people.

Finally, they reached the base of the stairs.

"I think we're going to head off to bed," Harry said loudly to the rowdy room. "No, seriously, George—"

Almost squashing Dennis Creevey, Gemma and Harry plowed their way through the final barricade of people and into the thankfully vacant stairwell. They clambered up the steps hurriedly, not wanting anyone else to stop them in pursuit of their beds. Only when they reached the point at which the dorms split off into the boys and girls dorms did they slow to a stop.

They shrugged the banner from their shoulders, and Gemma kicked it slightly out of the way so no one would trip on it. She was still grasping the glass of butterbeer in her hands, it half-empty from their quick escape. 

"That was absolutely mental," she said, trying to dab at her drenched front.

Harry nodded in agreement, adjusting his glasses which had gone askew in their fight to get upstairs. Gemma glanced back up at her friend, her brows pinching as she took in his expression. Harry looked like he was thinking incredibly hard, his brain mulling over the evening's happenings.

Gemma rest a comforting hand on his arm, trying to give him a reassuring smile.

"Get some sleep, Harry," she said, "There's no use worrying about it right now."

"Yea, you're right," he said, scratching at the spot where his scar sat, "Um, goodnight then."

"Goodnight, Harry."

Harry turned and shuffled off towards his room, taking a long sip of his drink as he went.

Gemma entered the girls' dormitory to find it strangely empty. It seemed as though Lavender and Parvati were both still celebrating with the rest of their housemates. Only one bed was occupied, and Gemma found herself sitting down on its edge heavily.

"What the bloody hell have I managed to get myself into?" she asked Hermione, sparing a glance at the curly-haired girl's face next to her.

"I have no idea," said Hermione.

Gemma glared at the remaining liquid in her frosty glass, watching as it swished back and forth.

And then just like Harry, she downed the whole thing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> DISCLAIMER:
> 
> I do not own any of the original Harry Potter characters, world, or plot. The stories and their livelihood belong to J.K. Rowling. Any characters, world-building, or plotlines that diverge from the original books alternatively are mine.
> 
> This story is also posted on Wattpad under the same username 'lacedpink'. Both of these accounts are owned by me. Any other postings are not authorized unless explicitly stated.


	15. Similitude

**_Chapter 15_ **  
**_SIMILITUDE_ **

_similitude_  
_(n.) likeness, a resemblance_

**THE** tenth crumpled ball of parchment met the Owlery floor, rolling to an unsteady stop on the dropping-covered stone. It bumped casually over the straw, coming to rest alongside its companions. 

Gemma groaned, running her hands through her hair in frustration. It was void of its usual silk ribbon, the sordid headache throbbing against her temples had begged for its absence, and she'd happily obliged as soon as she'd escaped from her last class of the day. 

The entirety of her Friday evening had been spent writing, and rewriting, a letter to her mother back home in West Country. She'd been putting it off for weeks, but with the way news spread in the Wizarding world, Gemma knew it wasn't long before someone else told her mother what had happened, and if she wanted to break the news first she'd have to do it sooner rather than later. 

How does one go about telling their family that despite all the restrictions, rules, and spells, they'd somehow still managed to get themselves entered into a potentially very dangerous tournament and that they had no choice but to compete?

Every time Gemma managed to get something onto the paper that didn't sound too dreadful, she'd scratched it out and started over again.

_Mum,_

_I regret to inform you that I have been chosen to participate in a bloody ridiculous tournament in which I may die. It may intrigue you to know that my death will most likely be an extremely embarrassing public affair, and I personally would recommend suspending our Prophet subscription for the remainder of the year._

_Hope you and Gideon are well!_

No, that sounded pathetic. Gemma tossed the ruined letter aside all the others, setting down her quill on the stone ledge where she was seated. She may as well just write her own eulogy and send the clippings to her mother in advance. Gemma's head gave another pulsating ache, and she shut her eyes tightly against the pressure. There was no way she was going to make it the entire year like this.

The past two and a half weeks since her name had mysteriously emerged out of the flaming goblet had been spent under constant stress and worry. The sick spiral had started when Colin Creevey had interrupted her Potions lessons on the first of November to drag her and Harry to the wand weighing ceremony. She and the rest of the champions had been berated for what felt like forever, questions flying at them like pesky pixies from all directions. Albeit, no one was questioned as much as Harry.

Finally, after hours of being rearranged in nearly every possible formation for photos by the _Prophet_ reporter Rita Skeeter, Gemma and Harry had returned to the Great Hall starving and jelly-legged. The article still hadn't come out, but Gemma didn't particularly want to see it anyway. She was more than happy to pretend like the entire ordeal was all just some sordid joke. 

Not that all the gossip that had been swarming the halls would let her. 

It seemed as though almost everyone was thoroughly convinced that both Harry and Gemma had teamed up in order to enter their own names, two little partners in crime. Those who were not their housemates did not seem too keen about the matter, and took it upon themselves to make their stances known whenever they had the opportunity. 

The Slytherins had taken up a crafting hobby, crude pins suddenly adorning their uniform robes spouting awful sayings and images. _Potter Stinks!_ and _Boo Bane!_ was permanently burned into her retinas. Anyone who wasn't a Gryffindor either glared or whispered if Gemma or Harry passed, with the exception of Luna, and the Hufflepuffs weren't too shy of a few nasty jinxes. The hallways had become a hazard, and it was a miracle if Gemma made it to class without having to dodge anything, or anyone. 

Fortunately, and perhaps the only good thing to come out of her change in circumstances, was that she hadn't been subjected to another detention since Halloween. It seemed as though Professor McGonagall was willing to give her a little bit of a break in that area as she became adjusted to her new status as champion.

Gemma didn't even want to think about what Draco would say when she saw him next. Probably something about his job being made easier, and not having to get any blood on his pristine Pureblood hands. 

But despite all the chaos that had ensued since the start of the month, there was something good that November had brought with it. 

The first Hogsmeade weekend of the year.

Gemma, Hermione, Ron, and Harry would all be enveloped in the warm, sugary air of Honeydukes in less than twenty-four hours, and Gemma couldn't suppress the increasing urge to get away from the pointed looks and curious head tilts she didn't think she'd ever get accustomed to. 

The much quieter streets of Hogsmeade would hopefully provide some relief, although Gemma was still tempted to ask Harry to bring along his Invisibility Cloak just in case. 

Shivering slightly, and pulling her robes tighter around her as the late Autumn air bit her cheeks, Gemma slid from her ledge, landing with a soft thud and causing some of the resting owls to glance down at her curiously. 

Picking up her quill and her final piece of parchment, she scribbled out a quick note to her mom. It wasn't the most eloquent letter, but it would have to do. She rolled it up tightly and secured it with a length of twine.

As if on cue, Lady came swooping down from the rafters where she had been perched alongside a lazy barn owl. Her heather grey wings beat steadily, creating their own breeze as she landed on Gemma's outstretched arm. Attaching the note to Lady's leg and giving her a gentle pet in appreciation, Gemma watched as the majestic bird gave a parting hoot and took off into the overcast sky.

With one last glance around to make sure she hadn't forgotten anything, Gemma ducked out from the stone building and began her trek back across the frosty grounds.

While they hadn't gotten any snow yet, the tell-tale chill suggested a blizzard wasn't too far off, and the grass crunched underfoot. Gemma tugged her scarf even tighter against her chin, quickening her pace as the large oak front doors came into view over the top of the sloped hill. It was just now nearing dusk, and the torches hanging on either side of the entryway cast long ovals of light on the ground. They flickered like molten guards, looking out over the impending night. 

Dinner had since gone and went whilst Gemma had taken up temporary residency in the Owlery, but her stomach hadn't given much of a protest to her skipped meal. The constant nervous anxiety that had settled in the pit of her stomach had made it hard to summon much of an appetite in recent weeks.

As she stepped into the much toastier foyer, Gemma found herself hoping that the post-meal rush had ebbed so that the halls would be fairly empty.

It seemed as luck was on her side, as the only people still milling about were a few lingering ghosts. Gemma waved at Nearly Headless Nick as he came swooping past, him and another ghost chasing after a cackling Peeves. Gemma managed to climb her way up to Gryffindor tower with only three sidelong glances and one hushed conversation aimed in her direction along the way, which was a thankfully and welcomed record low.

The Fat Lady also paid her almost no mind as she gave the password and passed through into the cozy common room. There were quite a few people still hanging around despite the hour, but within the walls of the lion's den, the murmur was centered solely on homework and Hogsmeade. 

No one even bothered to lift their head as Gemma entered. 

The initial shock of her and Harry's tournament mishap had faded amongst the Gryffindors, although the Creevey brothers had begun to construct their own rival pins in an attempt to counteract the Slytherins constant bullying.

If the tournament was brought up at all, it was usually only to discuss what people thought the first task was going to be. Gemma couldn't help but feel grateful that she could at least be a little at ease amongst the comfy maroon armchairs.

Harry, Ron, and Hermione were exactly where Gemma had left them a few hours ago, books strewn across laps, quills scratching away. Hermione's wild mane was illuminated around the edge of her head like a golden halo as she sat in front of the fire, scribbling furiously in her notes. 

Harry and Ron, on the other hand, were much less studious. The pair were laughing not-so-quietly about something, their quills long discarded with their essays on the table. 

Gemma smiled at the sight of the two boys as she made her way over to her friends, setting her bag down and sliding onto the soft rug next to Hermione so that her cold fingers could catch some heat. She flexed them subconsciously, savoring the return of feeling to their tips. 

Ron had been a tad testy with Harry following his name being drawn, unsure if his friend had gone behind his back to enter despite both Harry and Gemma's denial. The normally inseparable pair had spent a week at odds, before the red-head had finally come around. Now the two were back to their usual antics, and Hermione and Gemma no longer had to suffer through incredibly awkward meals in which they refused to speak to each other.

The boys were still choking back boughs of laughter as Gemma nuzzled her way further into the circle, breathless cackles leaving their lips.

"What's so funny?" Gemma asked, shaking her head at their quivering figures.

"Nothing, nothing," said Ron, "Just Divination homework. Harry made up quite the kicker of a dream for his journal."

Gemma looked at the spectacled boy, giving him a small smile.

Whilst their riff was not anywhere near the level of his and Ron's, Harry and Gemma had been tiptoeing around one another as well since the wand weighing.

Upon first being entered, it had been easy to find comfort in one another, the only champions in the same exact situation. Both stunned and unsure of what lay ahead, confused as to how they had ended up involved. Yet as the weeks had gone on, and the ambiguous first task hung over their heads, they had discerned that it was better to not discuss the tournament at all. They were each uneasy on their own, trying to figure out how best to handle things in their own minds. 

Besides, they heard enough about it from everyone else.

Maybe once the first task had passed, they could resume their more normal, relaxed state. But until then, the pre-jitters seemed determined to stay. 

The sound of Hermione clicking her tongue disapprovingly at the boys' lack of focus didn't phase them in the slightest, and with a roll of her eyes, she kept her head tucked in her textbook. 

Gemma wiggled her warmed fingers and toes, leaning back against the armchair and deciding she too should probably get a headstart on her homework. That way, the remainder of her weekend could be spent in a Honeydukes induced candy coma.

Curling up like Crookshanks usually did in the orange glow, Gemma cracked open her Charms book and didn't look up again until everyone else had gone up to bed, and the only sound still echoing in the deserted common room was the scratch of Hermione's steady quill beside her.

\--

The next morning greeted the students of Hogwarts with a sky thick full of heavy, grey clouds and gushing torrents of rain. It came down relentlessly, pounding at the stone walls and leaking through cracks in the grout. 

When Gemma and her fellow roommates managed to roll out of bed a little past 8 o'clock, Parvati had had to charm the ceiling so that the incessant dripping would stop. Each of the girls had to dig through their trunks to pull out the most waterproof articles of clothing they had as they began to dress for the journey into town. 

Gemma slipped into a hefty red raincoat, a gift from her mom for her last birthday, and stepped into a matching pair of red wellies. The rubber squeaked as she walked, brushing against itself. Hermione handed Gemma a spare umbrella as they descended the dormitory stairs and exited the common room, her own paisley print boots stomping against the stone as they went.

Harry and Ron were waiting patiently for them at the foot of the grand marble staircase when they arrived, each decked in their own water-repellent get-ups. Ginny was stood next to Ron as well, bright hair clashing against her equally fluorescent yellow windbreaker.

"Morning!" said Hermione excitedly, bouncing on her toes as they came to a stop next to their friends.

"How is it that you're so awake?" groaned Ron, doing a poor job at suppressing a yawn with the back of his hand. 

"I slept in," said Hermione, shrugging her shoulders as if it was common knowledge. 

"Slept in? But it's barely a quarter past eight!"

Hermione narrowed her eyes at him, pausing in her preppy cadence.

"That's nearly two extra hours of sleep," she said.

"Two hours!" exclaimed Ron, eyes bulging, "You mean to tell me you wake up at 6 am every day? Even on the weekends?"

"Yes, Ronald," said Hermione, "Now quit looking at me like I've got three heads and let's go. I want to make it to Tomes and Scrolls before Marietta Edgecombe," she gave Ron a push towards the double doors where Filch was waiting, checking off students names as the exited, "She always manages to swipe the copy of exactly the edition I'm looking for."

Harry, Gemma, and Ginny followed suit, unfurling their umbrellas and hunkering their heads as Filch allowed them to step out into the unpleasant slosh.

They hurried along as quickly as possible, chins tucked into the necks of their coats as they tried to avoid getting mouthfuls of water. The sound of the rain in their ears was deafening as they skidded numerous puddles on the path leading out of the grounds and towards the village.

The mass of students trudged their way up towards Hogsmeade, blurred packs through the sleet. Upon their arrival on High Street, the resident witches and wizards were darting back and forth under awnings as they tried their best to avoid the steady storm as they went about their days. 

Not in the mood to spend any more time outside in the dreaded weather than necessary, the five Gryffindors decided to split off from one another and reconvene later that day. Harry and Ron headed dutifully off to Zonko's to collect a smattering of goodies, Ginny and Gemma to Honeydukes to purchase as many sweets as they could afford, Hermione to her bookshop to beat Marietta. 

When they finally all sat down at a vacant table in the corner of the Three Broomsticks, they were each thoroughly soaked and lugging a variety of parcels.

Gemma draped her jacket over the back of her chair, the droplets cascading from the sleeves making a barely audible rhythm against the floor. She gripped the glass of butterbeer closer to her chest as she shivered.

Each of them had a decent pile of items they'd collected at the shops, laid out on the table still from their brief show and tell. Gemma and Ginny had managed to do some serious damage at the sweetshop, each girl had at least four boxes of assorted treats. Hermione had a stack of books so tall Gemma wasn't sure how she was going to be able to carry it back to the castle, and Harry and Ron each had a parcel of pranks and their own sweets.

They were now all chatting aimlessly over a basket of chips as they waited for the rain to settle, hoping it might let up a bit to allow them a less damp escape back up to the castle.

"Ginny, you should join!" Hermione was saying enthusiastically, digging for something in her bag, "You could be our fifth member! Oh, this is great, you're such a good artist too! And you see I've been meaning to make some new posters, ya know, spread the word a bit more—"

Ginny's smile looked forced as she nodded her head, taking a long sip of her butterbeer as she tried not to laugh. Gemma tried to hide her chuckle too, exchanging head shakes with Harry and Ron.

She let her eyes wander the crowded tavern as Hermione continued to drone on about her new marketing strategies for S.P.E.W. It seemed as though the pub was entirely filled with Hogwarts students, all attempting to get out of the drab weather for just a moment before the walk home.

Gemma's eyes instinctively landed on a group of sixth year's off to the side. They were all squished into a small wooden booth, talking in what they thought was hushed voices. Gemma though, who was just shy to the left of them, could hear everything they were saying quite clearly.

"Cedric thinks he might know what the first task is going to be," said a petite amber-haired girl, leaning further into the table as if that would somehow confine the gossip to the four of them.

"Really?" said her friend across from her, looking intrigued, "What does he suppose it is?"

The first girl sat back then, a smirk on her lips as she took a sip from her mug.

"Can't say, he told me not to tell. He _trusts me."_

At her last words, she placed a hand over her heart, as if she had crossed it and hoped to die. Her gaggle of friends giggled uncontrollably, twittering amongst themselves. Gemma rolled her eyes, a frown settling into the corners of her mouth.

If Harry and Gemma's friendship had been a bit rocky, her's and Cedric's was a near mountain.

They hadn't spoken at all since that night in which they parted awkward ways in the entrance hall, the entire wand weighing ceremony going by with barely a wave of acknowledgment. She hadn't seen him in the halls or courtyards since, and it seemed as though every time she entered the Great Hall he was engaged in forced conversation with his friends around him. Her badger-scarf debt had been completely forgotten.

Gemma couldn't tell if she was just being paranoid, or if Cedric really was avoiding her.

She sighed into her drink, draining the last of its contents before setting the empty pint down on the glossy wood table. She didn't have time to worry about it. It's not like they were really that good of friends in the first place anyway.

At least now Lavender wasn't kicking her chair and making snogging noises at her whenever she sat down in class.

"Would you give it a rest, Hermione?" said Ron, interrupting her tangent which had spun off into a potential house-elf Christmas dinner.

"Just because you have a lack of empathy doesn't mean the rest of us do, Ron," said Hermione, crossing her arms in a huff. Her cheeks were flushed with growing agitation. 

"Hey!" Gemma cut in, trying to deflate the situation before any glasses could be thrown, "We should probably start heading back to the castle, it's going to be evening soon."

Her friends all nodded their heads at her suggestion, Hermione still with a pinched brow, and began to stand to leave. They all begrudgingly tugged their still sopping coats back on, maneuvering their way through the crowded tables. 

One by one they filed out of the Three Broomsticks, the rain still thrumming steadily much to their dismay. Huddling together, they headed back up the street towards the distant shadows of turrets on the horizon. 

They were just about to pass the main gates of the Wizarding town when Gemma stopped abruptly in her tracks, her feet making a squelching noise in the mud.

"What is it?" Ginny paused, turning back to see her walking buddy stood still in the middle of the street.

"I forgot I needed to grab extra Billywig wings for Potions. I ran out last class," said Gemma, palm to her forehead.

Harry, Ron, and Hermione had also stopped and turned toward her.

"I can come with you," suggested Hermione, stepping back a few paces, gloved hand clutching her umbrella tightly. 

Gemma shook her head, waving them off.

"No, no! It's fine. I'll only be a moment. Keep going, I'll jog to catch up."

"Are you sure?" said Harry, wiping a few stray beads of water from his glasses with the sleeve of his jacket. 

"Yea, of course. I don't want you all to be stuck out in this longer than necessary," said Gemma, "Go on!"

With a few wary glances, her friends shrugged in silent agreement before continuing up the slick cobblestones.

Gemma made haste as she tried her best not to slip, hurrying back up the way they'd just come. She passed the Three Broomsticks where the band of Hufflepuff girls was now exiting, still giggling incessantly, trying to squint through the blinding shower.

Finally, the bottle-shaped sign of J. Pippin's Potions came into view overhead.

Gemma ducked inside the vacant looking shop hurriedly, the hefty glass door giving way to her body weight, rusty bell chiming announcing her presence. The shop was small and seemingly empty upon first entry. There were no elaborate window displays like most of the other shops on the lane, no merchandise laid out on shelves or benches. The only thing occupying the tiny space was a set of cracked cauldrons stacked at least six feet high, and a rickety-looking front desk with a register perched on one side. Behind it hung thick, velvet curtains in the deepest shade of purple, almost like a perfectly ripe plum.

Gemma approached the front of the shop, brows furrowed at the lack of shopkeeper. She'd have to really hike it in order to catch up with Harry, Ron, Hermione, and Ginny.

She was just about to call out for someone when suddenly the curtains parted and an elderly looking wizard stepped through. His shoulders were hunched with age, and his fine-looking emerald robes hung limply from his thin frame. He was void of any facial hair, but his eyebrows were coarse and so grey they were almost white.

When his eyes landed on Gemma, they seemed to widen slightly behind his round wire-rimmed spectacles.

"My goodness," he nearly whispered, "Jocelyn?"

Gemma's mouth went slack at the sound of her mother's name. Confusion unfurled in between her ears as she shook her head slowly, dampened hair leaving wet streaks on the back of her coat.

"Um, no. I'm not Jocelyn," she said to the wizard, "Sorry," she added as an afterthought.

He blinked as if barely registering her response.

"Oh, right. Of course," he said, wrinkled hands gripping the edge of the countertop as he shook his head, "You just look like— never mind. What can I do for you today?"

"Just a jar of Billywig wings," said Gemma.

She watched as the man nodded, turning to slip back through to where she assumed all the ingredients were kept. Before he could completely disappear through the folds of the fabric, she heard herself calling out to him.

"Did you mean Jocelyn Bane?"

The words had flown out of her mouth before she could stop them, curiosity taking over. He whipped back around at an alarming speed, a wide smile on his face.

"Yes!" he said, "Yes! How do you know her?"

"I—I'm her daughter, Gemma Bane. How do you know her?"

"Her daughter! I should've known!" the man rounded the counter suddenly, one arm spread, the other gripping a wooden cane, as he enveloped Gemma in a hug.

Eyes wide, Gemma uncomfortably pat the strange man's back with one arm, half-heartedly returning the incredibly intimate gesture considering she had met him not only five minutes ago. 

"Name's James Pippin," he said once he'd finally released her, "But most just call me Pip. Your mum used to come to see me when she was your age. Whenever they let you kids outta that castle, she'd always make sure to visit even if she wasn't out of anything."

"Oh," said Gemma, grip loosening on her umbrella handle. So this strange man was a friend of her mom's? 

"How is your mother doing? I know she was working for those blokes up at the Ministry for awhile," said Pip, walking back behind the counter.

"She's..." Gemma trailed off. Last she'd heard her mom was fine, but after she received Gemma's letter about the tournament, that was likely going to change. "She's fine. Still working at the Ministry," she settled on the easier answer.

"Wonderful, wonderful," Pip grinned. He stood there, just smiling at her, squinting as if he looked hard enough Gemma would transform into Jocelyn before him.

"Uh, if you don't mind," said Gemma, cheeks heating, "It's getting rather late and I have to get back before curfew."

"Ah! Right!" he snapped his fingers, "The Billywig wings, just one moment."

Pip disappeared into the back for a few minutes before finally reappearing with a small vile of what looked like dried, burnt leaves. They made a soft tinkling noise against the sides of the glass as he set them down.

"Here you are! This seem like enough?"

Gemma nodded, pulling out her coin pouch, only to have him shake his head at her. He waved her off, pushing it further in her direction, insisting. 

"No, no! Not necessary. On the house!"

"Are you sure?"

"Certainly! Your mother was one of my best customers. She and Lily used to buy up all my stores of Bicorn horn. Couldn't keep it on the shelves because of those two!" Pip laughed heartily, a far off look in his eyes, reminiscing, "Acted like I didn't know what they were up to. The most essential ingredient for Polyjuice potion! Ha! They were quite the trouble makers, the lot of 'em!" 

"I'm sorry," said Gemma, heart thrumming in her chest, "Did you say, Lily?"

Pip's smile seemed to widen even more as he beamed at her.

"Yes! Lily Evans. She and your mother were inseparable, although she was a few years younger than Jocelyn if I remember correctly. Always hung out with the same group of rowdy boys, though I warned them many times to be careful who they mixed themselves up with. "

"Who—"

The abrupt clatter of the bell over the door effectively cut off Gemma's next question as a matted, wet mess of red hair came tumbling into the shop. Ginny slid her hood off her head _,_ coming to stand next to Gemma as she panted lightly. Her vibrant locks looked almost black with water. 

"There you are!" she said, "The others are nearly at the castle already. I told them I'd wait for you, but you were taking ages! We're due back in less than twenty minutes!"

Gemma glanced at her friend, and then back at Pip, lips parted with still unanswered questions. The wizard shook his head with a soft smile, waving her off as he nudged the jar across the counter.

"Best be getting back! Don't want that squib Filch on your tails for being late! Tell your mum I said hi!"

Gemma pocketed the Billywig wings, her mind reeling as Ginny tugged her back out the door hurriedly. Gemma barely managed a brief wave of her hand as it banged shut behind them.

The two girls darted their way back through Hogsmeade at a fast pace, breaking into a soupy run as they scurried back on the path through the downpour.

Not even the rain splashing into her boots and soaking her socks, the glacial winds freezing the tip of her nose, or the impending darkness threatening punishment from Filch could keep Gemma from only thinking of the same two words the whole way back to Hogwarts.

_Lily Evans._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi everyone!
> 
> I just wanted to say thank you so much for the kudos & lovely comments! This is my first time posting my work to AO3, and I'm so happy you're liking it! It really, really means a lot to me! 
> 
> Much love & magic,
> 
> Cami :) 
> 
> DISCLAIMER:
> 
> I do not own any of the original Harry Potter characters, world, or plot. The stories and their livelihood belong to J.K. Rowling. Any characters, world-building, or plotlines that diverge from the original books alternatively are mine.
> 
> This story is also posted on Wattpad under the same username 'lacedpink'. Both of these accounts are owned by me!


	16. Rudiment

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter contains direct quotes from 'Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire'. All credit to J.K. Rowling.

**_Chapter 17_ **   
**_RUDIMENT_ **

_rudiment_   
_(n.) a mere beginning; the first step of many_

**NEVER** in all her years of schooling had Gemma wanted a class to last forever as much as she did that Tuesday. Especially not History of Magic. Yet there she was, wishing that Professor Binns wouldn't notice the steadily ticking hands on the clock, would become deaf to the loud chimes signaling that classes were finished for the day, despite it only being eleven-thirty.

As her fellow classmates all stood excitedly from their seats at the loud ring, Gemma sunk even deeper into her seat. Across the room, Harry appeared to be doing the exact same thing. He was putting his textbook into his bag at an agonizingly slow pace, the scrape of his chair against the stone floor of the classroom drawn out dramatically.

Only when he was standing astride Gemma's own desk did she begrudgingly stand and gather her things.

"I don't suppose we could somehow manage to get ourselves admitted to the Hospital wing before the end of lunch, do you?" said Gemma, her sweaty grip making it difficult to tighten the cap on her lone bottle of ink.

"I think we could break all of our limbs at once, and they would still make us compete," said Harry, "Probably just see it as a bit of an extra challenge."

Gemma let out a harsh sigh in resignation, tugging at the ends of her hair as they made their way out into the corridor. The whispers were even worse than the previous weeks, not a single student even attempting to hide their intrigue as the two champions made their way through the castle.

"So, have you figured out how you're going to..." her voice dropped off as a particular group of their peers seemed to lean closer to them as they passed.

Harry seemed to understand as he grimaced.

"Professor Moody told me to play to my strengths, but if I can't get my hands on a broom my Quidditch skills aren't much use." Harry's words were quiet as to keep them away from over-eager ears.

"Well, you've been getting pretty decent at that Summoning Charm."

Hermione, Ron, and Gemma had witnessed Harry's numerous attempts at the specific spell the entire day prior. They'd spread out in the common room, Gemma and Hermione pouring over stacks of books to try and glean any information they could, and Harry and Ron shouting _Accio!_ every ten seconds as flyers flew off the bulletin to their outstretched hands.

Unlike Harry, Gemma wasn't sure she had any strengths to play on that would aid in her hopeful victory. She was a decent Seeker as well, but she could barely manage to get her quill to move, let alone an entire broomstick.

"What about you?" Harry asked as they descended the marble staircase into the entrance hall, "Did you and Hermione find anything helpful last night?"

"No," Gemma harrumphed, "Everything we read already seemed to be common knowledge."

"Hm. What about Moody's advice? What are you really, really good at?"

"I suppose I'm decent at school, but unless I plan to read the bloody thing a bedtime story, I don't think that will help me much," Gemma sighed.

They pushed through the crowd at the mouth of the Great Hall, maneuvering their way up the aisle toward the Gryffindor table and taking seats to the right of Ron as they swung themselves over the long wooden bench. Neither one dared even look at the food on the table, stomachs in no shape to ingest anything other than oxygen. Luckily their friends seemed to understand that they weren't in the mood for petty conversation, and left them to their vices for the remainder of the meal.

When Professor McGonagall came hurrying over toward them at half past noon, heads swiveling to follow her movements, she looked almost as anxious as Gemma and Harry felt themselves.

"Mr. Potter, Miss Bane," she greeted them, hand sweeping out to the side in gesture, "The champions have to come down to the grounds now...You have to get ready for your first task."

They both stood unflatteringly, Gemma knocking the edge of her plate with her knee, Harry nearly sending his knife into the pudding.

"Good luck," Hermione whispered, giving Gemma's wrist a squeeze, "You'll do great."

Gemma tried to give her a thankful smile, but she was sure it looked more as though she'd just smelled something particularly disgusting.

The stretch from the table to the towering doors felt like a proper promenade as the champions followed Professor McGonagall out of the Great Hall. As they exited out onto the grounds, she glanced pointedly between the two of them.

"Now, don't panic," she said, "Just try to keep your wits about you. We have plenty of wizards standing by to control the situation should it get out of hand. The main thing is that each of you does your best, and nobody will think any worse of you. And remember, neither of your points count this round, only Mr. Diggory's. It is in your best interest to not worry about the grandeur of your solution, but the efficiency of it."

Gemma and Harry nodded wearily. Professor McGonagall was leading them toward the Forbidden Forest, but instead of entering into its tangles of branches, they skirted along its perimeter. Up ahead of them a tent had been erected, its entrance wide and intimidating as they approached. They came to a stop just outside.

"You're to go in here," Professor McGonagall's voice seemed to shake slightly as she spoke, "And wait for your turn. Mr. Bagman is in there...he'll be telling you the— the procedure."

For a moment Gemma thought her teacher was going to hug them, but instead she just inclined her head toward the tent, eyes full of worry.

"Good luck."

"Thanks," said Harry, his voice oddly strangled.

Gemma grasped Harry's arm, trying to stabilize herself as she linked them together, letting out a shaky breath. Together, they went inside.

Upon their entry, they could see the rest of the champions spread out amongst the tent. Fleur Delacour was sitting, spine ramrod straight, on a small stool in one corner. Her usually composed features were pale, and her hands were clenched tightly in her lap. Viktor Krum also appeared much more surly as he scowled at nothing. Cedric was pacing the length of the tent.

Gemma squeezed Harry's bicep even tighter as Ludo Bagman clapped both of them on the shoulder.

"Ah! There you are!" He exclaimed way too enthusiastically, "Come in, come in! Make yourselves at home!"

Compared to the much more sullen champions, Bagman was bursting with an aloft cheeriness. It was positively smothering.

"Great, well, now that you're here, I suppose it's time to fill everyone in," continued Bagman, steering them over towards the center of the tent, the other competitors joining them. "Once the audience has assembled, you will all reach into this bag here," he held up a small velvet satchel.

"And select a small model of the thing you are about to face. There are different, eh, what should we call them? Varieties! And the task will be to _collect the golden egg_!"

Cedric nodded in understanding. Fleur seemed to grow even paler. Viktor grunted. Gemma and Harry exchanged equally nervous looks.

Gemma herself felt the same way she had in the forest three days prior, on the verge of vomiting everywhere. At least everyone else had volunteered.

Hundreds of footsteps could be heard passing outside, the sound of the approaching crowd not helping the increasing tension within the tent. Their bouts of laughter taunted the champions as they made their way into the stands. And then, Ludo Bagman was holding the bag under Fleur's nose.

"Ladies first," he grinned.

Fleur hesitated for a moment before plunging her delicate hand into the bag. When she pulled it out again, a small green dragon, an exact miniature replica of the one Gemma had seen, was crawling in Fleur's open palm. It had a number 3 hanging from its neck, presumably the order the champions would fight in.

Each of them in turn thrust their hands into the depths of fabric. Krum was to battle the red Chinese Fireball fourth, and Cedric the silvery Swedish Short-Snout second. When it was Harry's turn, he stuck his arm in up to the elbow, extracting the ill-tempered Hungarian Horntail. It bared its teeth up at him and Gemma, tail swishing menacingly. The number 5 hung from its neck, meaning there was only one number, and one dragon left.

Pulling the model dragon out from the depths of the bag, it's midnight scales gleamed in the dingy light as Gemma opened her fist. The Hebridean Black's tiny claws nicked at her soft skin, the number 1 tauntingly swatting at it's underbelly.

Gemma's heart pitched in her chest.

"There you are!" said Bagman abruptly, "You each have pulled the dragon you will face! The numbers correspond to the order in which you will compete. Now, I must get going, because I'm commentating," he seemed to beam even wider at this, "Miss Bane, you're first. Just go out to the enclosure when you hear the whistle."

With that, Ludo departed from the tent, scurrying off to join the rest of the crowd. It took Harry shaking Gemma for her to finally realize he had been calling her name.

"Are you alright?" he asked her gently, although his face was closely mirroring the fear in her own.

Gemma couldn't speak, couldn't move. Her limbs seemed to be frozen exactly where she stood, glued to the dying grass beneath her feet.

"I can't do this, Harry," she said, clutching his forearms as she faced him, "I'm going to get myself killed out there."

The thundering roar of a dragon seemed to echo her sentiments from beyond the flap leading to the ring. The crowd answered its cry just as loudly. A petite witch sidled over to the two of them, arms full with a bundle of clothes. Harry took the outfits from her grasp, Gemma still immobile and petrified.

"Yes, you can," said Harry, eyes encouraging and comforting through his round frames, "You're smart, and you're strong. You helped Hermione, Ron, and I last year. You ace all of your classes. You turned Malfoy into a ferret. Just think of his face on the dragon's. Shouldn't have any problem hexing the hell out of it then."

Gemma gave a weak laugh, a glimmer of a smile passing across her face. Harry held out the red and gold mass of fabric toward her, the uniform she was undoubtedly supposed to wear. Ludo's voice suddenly boomed over the grounds.

It was almost time.

Gemma hurried over towards the far end of the tent where a curtain was hung, serving as a temporary dressing room. Cedric emerged from its depths just as she had taken hold of the sheet. Gemma stumbled back slightly, looking up at him with pink cheeks.

The yellow and black uniform stretched across his chest, the Hufflepuff crest emblazoned on the front. His eyes widened, then softened at Gemma's startled expression.

"Good luck out there, Little Snitch," said Cedric, giving her shoulder a squeeze as he passed her.

Gemma watched him as he resumed his previous routine of pacing. Exhaling sharply, she turned and entered the dressing room, trying to urge her skin to return to its normal color. As she undid the clasp of her robes, she reached into her right hand pocket, making sure to extract her wand from its depths.

A frown licked at the corner of her lips as she felt something oddly cool and metallic meet her fingertips. Pulling it out, she held the circular gold coin up in front of her face. The glint of Leprechaun gold bounced against the sides of the tent. She must have forgotten to remove it after her detention the other night.

She stared at it for a moment, before tucking it into the pockets of her new tournament uniform. She wasn't sure the exact implications of the coin, but she figured she could use any luck she could get.

When Gemma exited the dressing room again fully clothed, her nerves seemed to have multiplied tenfold—if that was even possible. Her fingers seemed to be tingling, twitching occasionally as if she couldn't quite control their movements. The usually familiar weight of her wand in her hand felt foreign. Every inch of her seemed to be alive and aware, fear coursing like hot lava through her veins.

She could hear Bagman talking to the crowd outside, his jests counting down the seconds until she would have to meet her potential doom. Gemma stepped toward the flap leading to the arena, passing the other champions as she went. Harry came to stand beside her, his presence reassuring and comforting as Gemma braced herself, teeth gritted beneath sealed lips.

She tried to hold her chin up, steel her features into a hopefully confident front. She was strong. She could do this.

She didn't have to win.

She just had to survive.

The sound of the whistle split through the wintery air like a shattering mirror, and Gemma entered the arena.

Everything seemed surreal, as if she was daydreaming a nightmare. Her body felt disconnected, as if she was floating above herself, watching as she walked out onto the flat surface of the boulder ground.

Hundreds of faces were staring down at her from above, a massive blur of scarves and coats. At the other end of the enclosure, opposite her, crouched the Hebridean Black, a single golden egg resting at its feet. Its slanted yellow eyes were trained on her, wings extended to their full length in either direction.

Gemma clenched her wand tighter as they sized each other up, the Hebridean's tail whipping violently back and forth, sending rocks skittering against the earth. She tried to think, come up with some sort of strategy. She needed to focus if she wanted any chance of coming out of this relatively unscathed. Moody's advice rang in her ears.

What was she good at?

She tried to assess the situation as she would a paper. Start with the beginning, the overarching goal.

The egg. She needed to somehow get close enough to reach the egg.

Deciding she should test the waters, she took a cautious step forward. Her heel had barely left the ground when the dragon sent a bought of burning flames in her direction. Gemma hurtled herself to the side, landing with a painful thud as the crowd gasped. She rolled on her side, hoisting herself back to her feet immediately.

There would be no point in going slow, the dragon would tail her with fire no matter how fast she moved. So long as its attention was on her, she wouldn't be able to get anywhere near it.Gemma needed a distraction, something to draw its focus away from her, and more importantly away from the golden egg it was guarding.

Thinking fast, Gemma sent a spell hurtling in the direction of a nearby rock. It exploded instantly. The beast turned toward the ruckus and Gemma used the opportunity to sprint into the cover of a rock closer to its feet.

The audience roared in approval at her successful maneuver.

Gemma peered around the edge of the stone cautiously, only to be met face to face with a surge of bright blue flames. She threw herself back behind the boulder, pressing herself as flat as she could against its surface, heart thundering.

She could feel the heat engulfing her, the edge of her sleeve catching. Her skin seared as she hastily scrambled to put out the fabric with her wand. She needed to move or she'd be burned alive.

Clambering to stand again, Gemma darted to the protection of a different rock, closer still to the egg. Its golden surface stood out stark and smooth compared to the barren scorched ground on which it rested. Another swell from the crowd surged up, distracting the Hebridean whose massive head whipped this way and that at the noise, a quaking grumble erupting from its mouth.

Gemma didn't hesitate to seize the opportunity of its momentary lapse of focus. She sprinted forward out from the cover of the boulder, heading straight for the egg at its feet. She was almost there, five meters away, the dragon still calling out at the people watching on. Gemma could feel the urge to smile as she closed in on the egg, hand outstretched.

And then an earth-shattering force threw her clear across the arena.

The Hebridean's tail had rammed into her abdomen, sending her sailing at least fifty feet in the air. She came crashing to the ground, the wind knocked completely out of her. Her forehead hit the stone beneath her with a crack. Gemma wheezed, arms shaking as she tried to push herself to sit up.

She clutched at her ribs which were surely fractured if not broken. Her vision swam as she groped for her wand, blood beginning to pool in her eyes. She felt her heart lurch as she caught sight of it, laying atop one of the mountainous forms near the dragon's head.

Gemma choked on the metallic liquid, spitting some up, a bright splotch of red on the steely grey stone. She tried to steady her breathing, tried to think of what to do. The panic was clawing at her throat, but Gemma bit it back.

 _She didn't have to win._ _She just had to survive._

But how could she survive without her wand?

Her head throbbed painfully, and Gemma shut her eyes against its thrumming rhythm. She tried to block out everything. The noise of the crowd, the heavy footfalls of the dragon.

Suddenly, she was back in the Astronomy Tower with a fair-haired boy telling him about a game she used to play with her brother. _Hide & Seek._

Staying on her hands and knees, and keeping an ear out for the Hebridean, Gemma began to crawl. She slipped behind one slab of slate, out of sight, then toward another. Slowly, staying hidden, she made her way closer around the edge of the enclosure until she was directly behind the dragon. Gemma could see it stretching its wings, scales ruffling. Her wand was balancing precariously close to its head, teetering on the edge of a makeshift cliff.

Using as much strength as she could muster, Gemma reached up, grasping as best she could onto a jagged edge, and pulled. As if she was scaling a mountain, she began to climb up the boulder, making sure to stay as quiet as she could.

Finally, she crested the top, moving in a low squat. Everyone watching was silent now, all holding their breaths as Gemma crept towards the opposite side of the rock. The dragon had its head nestled towards the ground as it prodded its prized possession with uncharacteristic care.

Gemma inhaled sharply, hissing as loudly as she dared.

" _Accio wand!"_

The wood gave a weak jolt, but nothing happened.

 _"Accio wand!"_ She tried again, slightly louder.

Again, the wand barely twitched.

But the dragon seemed to have heard her, because its head swiveled in her direction.

Gemma's insides clenched as it reared on her, piercing eyes locked on her wide green ones as it lunged. Before she could even think about what she was doing, Gemma hurtled herself over the side of the rock and onto the dragon's back.

She clutched at its slippery scales desperately as it thrashed in every direction, trying to shake her off. Using her feet, she struggled higher up its long neck, holding on for dear life. It whipped its head back and forth, deafening shrieks erupting from its lungs in symphony with the enthralled crowd who were all on their feet.

Then, as the dragon threw itself violently to the left, Gemma used the momentum, letting go and sending herself soaring.

She rolled a few meters, bones protesting in agony, before scrambling toward the one thing she hadn't lost sight of. The feeling of her wand against her palm sent shockwaves of relief through her body, a newfound sense of energy and determination easing the blunt pain. The flash of gold on stone caught her eye, but it wasn't the egg she was after anymore.

It was the small coin of Leprechaun gold that had managed to escape her pockets that she pitched forward for, snatching it up.

She was going to play to her strengths. Hexing Malfoy wouldn't help her, but maybe Transfiguration still could.

Gemma aimed her wand at the coin clutched in her hand, focusing a hard as she could on the shape she wanted it to take on. It began to stretch and grow, the flat metal becoming rounder, one end elongating more so than the other, until, held heavily in Gemma's arms, was an exact replica of the golden egg.

Sending a quick thanks to Salazar, she hoisted it above her head, calling out to the beast who had ceased its seizure-like movements.

"Hey, you great brute! Might wanna see what I've got!"

The dragon let out a vicious roar at the sight of Gemma holding the fake egg, flames shooting into the sky as it bucked.

"Come and get it!" She taunted.

The dragon answered her with another stream of fire, as it lumbered straight toward her. Gemma waited until the last possible second before chucking the coin-egg as far as she could across the enclosure.

The dragon skirted to a halt, throwing itself in the other direction to follow it. Wasting no time, Gemma leaped from the small cliff.

The Hebridean's tail caught her right arm as she tumbled, cutting a deep gash from her elbow to her shoulder. She bit her cheek to keep from crying out, gripping her wand even tighter as she ran. Her lungs burned, her head pounded, her arm screamed, but she was so close.

The cool metal met her fingertips, the real golden egg cradled against her chest as she snatched it up.

The crowd was going mental, every single one of them on their feet as they cheered. Gemma couldn't help the grin that pushed her cheeks upward.

"Look at that!" Ludo Bagman's voice rumbled overhead, "Our first champion, Gemma Bane, has successfully retrieved the egg!"

Her wounds ached, her breath ragged with every inhale, but she had done it.

She had made it through the first task.

She had survived.

Suddenly, thirty or so wizards were rushing out from the enclosure entrance, wands outstretched as they attempted to wrangle the dragon back into submission. Gemma's eardrums were overwhelmed as she met Professor McGonagall, Professor Moody, Hagrid, and Harry at the entrance, still gripping the egg which was now significantly slick with her own drying blood.

"That was excellent, Miss Bane," Professor Moody praised.

"I knew yeh could do it!" said Hagrid, grinning.

"We all did!" said Harry, who although he still had to face his own dragon seemed genuinely happy and proud of his friend.

Gemma practically launched herself into his congratulatory hug, shaking as the reality of everything began to set in. She detached herself from Harry as Professor McGonagall spoke.

"We really should be getting you off to the first aid tent, Miss Bane. Potter and the rest of the champions still have to compete."

Gemma nodded numbly, still smiling as she allowed herself to be led from the tent, but not before giving Harry another hug and hurried _Good Luck._

She could hear Ludo's introductory speech start up again as he announced the next champion. As she walked toward a welcoming Madam Pomfrey, a roar reverberating dim in the distance, Gemma couldn't help the swell of pride in her chest.

A dragon was no match for a lion.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> DISCLAIMER:
> 
> I do not own any of the original Harry Potter characters, world, or plot. The stories and their livelihood belong to J.K. Rowling. Any characters, world-building, or plotlines that diverge from the original books alternatively are mine.
> 
> This story is also posted on Wattpad under the same username 'lacedpink'. Both of these accounts are owned by me. Any other postings are not authorized unless explicitly stated.


	17. Scintilla

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter contains direct quotes from 'Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire'. All credit to J.K. Rowling.

**_Chapter 18_ **   
**_S_ ** **_CINTILLA_ **

_scintilla_   
_(_ _n.) a tiny, brilliant flash or spark; a small thing; a barely-visible trace_

**SHE** blinked slowly, her eyelashes brushing together lightly before parting ways once again. Gemma watched as the golden reflection did the same, her muddy green irises looking much more catlike in the rounded surface of the egg. Her chin rest atop her hands that were sprawled flat across the wooden coffee table, her nose practically touching the cool metal.

Gemma had found herself in this position almost every morning and every evening, really any free time she had, staring into the rich shine as if by sheer will alone she would understand the clue. She and Harry and managed to successfully capture their eggs, which meant they would both be continuing on to the next task. It would be taking place toward the end of February, and seeing as the sleet beating against the walls of the castle was suggesting it had barely surpassed December 1st, there was still plenty of time to figure out the hint their prize was supposed to possess.

Upon re-entering the common room after defeating their dragons, the two champions had joyfully, and perhaps a little cockily hoisted their golden eggs high above their heads—and to the chorus of enthusiastic shouts, they'd flipped the latching and cracked into their gleaming centers. The excited chants had almost immediately turned to horrified yelps as the eggs let out simultaneous shrieks that rivaled that of the baby mandrakes.

It was safe to say that not a single person had understood how the shrill yells were supposed to give any clue as to what the next task would be, and Gemma had taken up the pastime of scowling at her egg any chance she got. She usually carried it around with her, tucked safely between textbooks in her bag, despite the added weight. She wasn't sure why, it just felt more secure than leaving it sitting on her nightstand or locked in her trunk.

Lavender was always poking around her private life anyway, and the last thing Gemma wanted was her sticky hands on the perfectly polished egg that was meant to provide her with some idea of what she'd have to face in a few short months.

And yet, as much as Gemma stared at the thing, it had made no more sense in the following weeks as it had that first night.

Every time she dared to twist the latch at the top, the same horrendous, earsplitting noise erupted from its depths. The looks she received from fellow classmates weren't worth the embarrassment, and so Gemma had resigned to trying to crack the code with her brainpower alone.

It was turning out to be quite the feeble feat.

Just then, a second reflection joined her own, large brown eyes and big bushy hair exaggerated by the sloping curves of the egg's shell.

"You do realize that staring at it won't help you figure out the clue any faster, right?" asked Hermione from over Gemma's shoulder, her eyebrows quirked upwards questioningly.

Gemma let out a frustrated sigh, lifting her chin from its resting place and glancing at her friend.

"I know," she said, "But I feel like I've read every book in the entirety of the castle, and not a single one has been of any use."

"Is it still letting out that terrifying noise every time you open it?" inquired Hermione, now standing at her full height again, her uniform perfectly pressed as usual.

"Yes, and I think I've given up trying to discern if it means anything. I've eliminated the possibility that it's another language, and there's no other markings or indications to help lead my research in any direction that isn't dead."

Gemma eyed the hefty thing as if it was taunting her from where it sat idly on the table.

"Has Harry made any progress?"

Hermione shook her head, a frown itching at the corners of her lips.

"No, he hasn't. Why aren't you two working on it together anyway? Surely two heads are better than one?"

"We were for a bit, but it's gotten to the point where we're just reiterating what the other says. There hasn't been a new idea in ages."

Gemma picked up the egg and stuffed it into the nook it now occupied in her bag, stretching her cramped legs as she stood. Professor McGonagall had requested that all those in years four and above meet in the Great Hall just before lunch that Saturday, although the nature of the gathering was still a mystery. Based on the chiming bells, they were right on schedule.

"And besides," continued Gemma as they made their way out of the portrait hole and into the steady stream of students heading the same direction, "I like it better when Harry and I don't discuss the tournament. I can almost pretend like it's not happening at all."

She gave a cursory glance around at her peers.

"Seeing as everyone else can't help bringing it up every five seconds."

If there was one thing she was thankful for since the first task, besides surviving it in the first place, it was that the jeers and jests of her classmates had calmed down a considerable amount. Sure, the Slytherins still sported the occasional _Boo Bane!_ pin and jinxes weren't totally out of the picture, but for the most part, the conspiratorial whispers had ebbed into betting on who would win the tournament now that all five champions had been successful at the first task.

Gemma, to her surprise, had acquired quite the fanbase. The Creevey brothers had proudly come up to her at breakfast the day after her victory and declared themselves the heads of her very own crafting committee. Their robes now dawned large ornate ribbons, maroon and gold ruffles baring her beaming face as she'd swept down the field during the Officially Unofficial Quidditch Match.

Whilst somewhat endearing, Gemma couldn't help but find herself grinning from the cloaks of her classmates a bit creepy.

She tried not to look as she caught sight of one adorned on the chest of a familiar blonde Ravenclaw. Luna was bouncing on her toes lightly as she waited in line to enter the Great Hall, her long hair waving back and forth at her movements. She beamed at Hermione and Gemma as they approached.

Hermione waved, and Gemma gave a somewhat forced smile, her eyes darting toward her face pinned to her friend's lapel.

"Hello Luna," Hermione greeted kindly, coming to stop alongside her.

Cho Chang and her small gaggle of friends were also standing not too far away, and both Hermione and Gemma gave them polite waves as well.

"What are you doing here? I thought McGonagall only requested students in fourth year and above?"

"Oh," Luna's lips spread even wider, "I'm just here to work the gramophone. It's my dad's, you see. He lent it to Dumbledore so that we can practice. But it's a tricky thing, and the Wrackspurts love to mess about in the horn. They think it's an ear, poor things."

Gemma and Hermione gave each other wary glances, chuckling lightly as they nodded, equally confused—they often were whenever Luna gave an explanation for things.

"I wonder why we're here. You don't suppose something's happened, with the tournament or anything?" Cho's voice echoed nervously in the foyer, and she twisted a strand of her hair habitually as she tried to peer over the heads in front of her.

"I don't think so," offered Gemma, who in the slow shuffle toward the large double doors had found herself caught in the middle of the fourth year Ravenclaws, "At least, they haven't said anything."

Cho's face seemed to lighten a bit at Gemma's words, and she patted her arm thankfully.

"Yes, yes! You're right. Surely they'd tell you five champions first if anything was wrong."

Gemma gave her another reassuring smile as the line began to move forward again.

In her short time at Hogwarts, she hadn't gotten to know Cho too well. Other than playing her in the Quidditch game back in October, and a few random chats in the halls, her knowledge of the dark-haired girl had solely come from Harry's swooning. Hermione and Gemma had giggled over his love-sick looks many times, and despite his desperate attempts at denial, anyone would have to be blind not to see how much he fancied her.

As the students pressed further into the hall, Gemma could now see the gramophone Luna had been talking about, standing tall and proud at the front of the room on top of a set of wooden crates. Filch, with Mrs. Norris tucked at his feet, was glaring at anyone who seemed to get too close to it, ignoring Professor McGonagall as she said something to him.

The long tables they usually ate at had been pushed up against the walls, the benches now lined up neatly around the outskirts of the hall, leaving a big, open clearing of stone floor in the middle. Most people were taking seats with their housemates at the edges, all wearing the same curious looks.

Every house had made an appearance as instructed, the Gryffindors, Ravenclaws, and Hufflepuffs huddled a significant distance away from the Slytherins.

Gemma caught a familiar flash of bronzed hair. Cedric laughing with his friends and some of the other Ravenclaw Quidditch team. He caught her eye as she maneuvered her way behind Hermione toward where Parvati sat on a bench.

Gemma gave a weak smile, and to her relief, it was met with his wide lipped one. They hadn't spoken still since he'd wished her luck before the first task, but based on his toothy greeting the air seemed much lighter than it had in the wake of Halloween night. There was a jauntier skip to her step as Gemma crossed the hall and took her seat. Perhaps he didn't hate her after all.

She'd only just managed to greet Parvati when Professor McGonagall's voice rang out over all the chatter.

"Alright, settle down please!" She called, hands folded neatly in front of her.

She was wearing different robes than she normally taught in, the fabric much looser and delicate. The emerald green folds of velvet seemed to flow around her as she moved to stand in the center of the room, swiveling slowly as she addressed the settling students.

"I have something to discuss with you all," Professor McGonagall paused for what appeared to be dramatic effect, "The Yule Ball is approaching— a traditional part of the Triwizard Tournament, and an opportunity to socialize with our foreign guests. Now, the ball will be open to only fourth years and above—although you may invite a younger student if you wish."

Parvati had to nudge Lavender hard in the ribcage to get her to subdue her squealing giggles, although Gemma noticed the suppressed smile on her face. Both girls snuck glances at Harry who was seated further down the row with Ron, the boys all looking miserable at the mention of the word "ball". Gemma couldn't help but snicker at their depressed features.

"Dress robes will be worn," said Professor McGonagall, "And the ball will start at eight o'clock on Christmas Day, finishing at midnight in the Great Hall."

Gemma felt her heart skip a beat at the mention of the twenty-fifth, now finding it hard herself to hide her growing grin.

A ball on her birthday.

Professor McGonagall cleared her throat to try and recapture the attention of the murmuring crowd, everyone already twittering undoubtedly about dates and dresses.

"The Yule Ball is of course a chance for us all to — er — let our hair down," she said, scrunching her nose grimly as more giggles met her words, "But that does not mean that we will be relaxing the standards of behavior we expect from Hogwarts students. I will be most seriously displeased if any one of you were to embarrass the school in any way, and so, that is why I have gathered you here today."

Only then did Gemma notice that it was in fact solely Hogwarts students in the Great Hall. She had become so accustomed to the Durmstrang and Beauxbatons students company that she hadn't even noticed they weren't mixed up amongst them as usual.

"Because, at the heart of it, the Yule Ball is first and foremost, a dance."

With a motion of her hand toward the front of the room, Filch grunted and begrudgingly handed a large record to Luna, who placed it delicately on the surface of the gramophone and set the needle. A bright, upbeat waltz resounded from the flower-shaped horn, bouncing against the high rafters.

"I'd like you to pair up please," said McGonagall, "I will be coming around to instruct you all on proper form and technique. And I want no funny business, or you'll be sorting papers in detention for a week."

No one dared to move, the tinny sound of the music the only noise as students exchanged awkward glances. Gemma shared a nervous glance with Hermione who shrugged her shoulders. Even Hermione, who excelled at everything, wasn't quite sure how to properly waltz.

Over the airy notes, Professor McGonagall's voice carried again.

"I would also like the champions to please come see me before your pair off."

Slowly, and with a look of dread aimed at her roommates who were shooing her off, Gemma stood and made her way across the vacant floor toward her professor. Harry and Cedric were also doing the same, and they all met at the front of the hall just off to the left of Luna and her music device.

The movement of the champions seemed to have stirred some confidence in their peers as people vaguely began to make their way over to each other, partnering up as they attempted what they thought was a waltz.

Gemma, Harry, and Cedric waited for McGonagall to speak. She beckoned them closer so that they stood in a small huddle at the foot of the stairs.

"Now, I thought it best to inform you that, traditionally, the champions and their partners are to open the Ball."

Gemma's stomach flipped at her words. Harry seemed to grow pale. Cedric just smiled broadly.

"My father taught me to waltz when I was younger, never understood how it would come in handy until now," said Cedric.

Professor McGonagall beamed at him, a look of approval in her eyes.

"I don't dance," was Harry's response, bashful and abrupt.

"Oh, yes you do," countered Professor McGonagall, approval replaced by displeasure, "It is tradition. You are a Hogwarts champion, and you will do what is expected of you as a representative of this school."

"But I really can't—"

"Then perhaps you should see if Mr. Diggory here can tutor you," Professor McGonagall interrupted, narrowed gaze focused on Harry, who sealed his lips shut at her comment.

She turned to Gemma next expectantly, as if seeing if she had anything to say in retort.

"I've never danced before," Gemma said meekly, "But I'm sure I can learn." she amended quickly, looking down at the toes of her loafers peeking out from beneath her robes.

"Very well," said McGonagall, "Off you go then, find a partner and get to practicing."

She then swept away into the mass of fumbling students, already correcting Seamus as he stepped on Hannah Abbott's toes for what appeared to be the millionth time based on her blotchy complexion. All around them, it seemed as if everyone else was already paired up.

Hermione was dancing with Dean Thomas, laughing lightly with him about who knows what. Lavender and Parvati had each found their own respective Hufflepuff boys. Ron was having his toes trampled by Pansy Parkinson, who unlike Seamus, seemed to be stepping on his feet on purpose.

Gemma had to swallow a laugh as she watched Pansy's foot make contact with Ron's shin. However they managed to get paired up, she was sure Ron would not be asking the sneering Slytherin to be his real date.

A light voice sounded from over their shoulders, and the three turned to see Luna walking toward them.

"Harry," she said kindly, almost dazed as if the music had transported her to another world entirely, "Would you care to dance? My father says I'm quite good at it. I could teach you, if you'd like."

Harry seemed to sigh in relief, nodding anxiously as he accepted Luna's delicate, outstretched hand. The two of them waded into the commotion together, swallowed by the mass of moving bodies.

Gemma frowned, surveying the rest of her options, but it appeared that there were none. Neville had Padma Patil in quite an impressive dip as he showed off his skills, and to Gemma's irking displeasure it appeared that even her one and only detention partner had managed to find himself a dance partner.

"So, I suppose it's you and I then?" Came a voice from next to her, causing Gemma to jump slightly at its closeness.

Turning, she caught sight of Cedric's open palm, his cheeky grin perfectly in place against his rosy cheeks. He wiggled his fingers invitingly.

"You're not going to make me stand here all day are you?"

Gemma, much like Harry, relaxed with a smile and gladly took Cedric's hand in hers. He guided her further out until they had enough space, taking up her waist. Gemma rest her left hand on his shoulder, hoping what she was doing was correct. Cedric nodded at her reassuringly, then nudged her right foot with his left.

"This one steps back first," he said, guiding her steps as he walked her through the different parts of the classic waltz.

They went slowly, swaying lightly and a bit clumsily as Gemma attempted to move gracefully. After about ten minutes of guided movement, the two were able to maneuver themselves without Cedric having to nudge Gemma in reminder of which leg to put where.

"So, manage to figure out what the second task is yet?" Cedric asked casually, spinning her once. 

"No, I wish," Gemma groaned, stepping to the left again, "Honestly if you hear any screaming in the middle of the night, it won't be the egg that's making the sound."

They laughed together as Gemma narrowly missed Cedric's foot. She wheezed out a breathy apology.

"Sorry, sorry!" she chuckled, "Geez, out of all the things I assumed we may be facing during this tournament, dancing surely was not the one I thought would be the most difficult."

Cedric, whose smile seemed to have been stuck in place since they'd begun dancing only grew wider as he laughed. Suddenly, though, he tucked his chin, his features slipping into something that looked more forlorn, and almost ashamed.

"You know," he said, voice dropping an octave, "It really should be me that's apologizing."

Gemma looked up at him inquisitively, cocking her head to the side as she shook her head, not understanding.

"What do you mean?"

"For how I've been acting. With you. Since the start of the tournament. I know I've been kind of an arse lately, not speaking to you and stuff..." he trailed off, avoiding eye contact as they kept swaying.

"Cedric, it's fine. Really, we've all been dealing with things—"

"No," he cut her off, gaze snapping to hers instantly, "No. It's not ok. I've been a downright dick. And I'm not even sure why. It's not because I'm not happy you're in the tournament, I am. Truly. It's just, I don't know. I don't like the idea of us being competition. I think I'd like it much better if we were on the same side."

Gemma's heart softened at the wide-eyed boy in front of her. She squeezed his shoulder lightly with her hand, reassuring him.

"I understand. Believe me, I'd prefer if I was cheering you on from the sidelines."

Cedric didn't look very convinced so she added, "Seriously."

"So we're still good? Still friends?"

"Oh, so you think we're friends. Interesting very interesting," Gemma hummed jokingly, "I always considered you as an acquaintance. Maybe a familiar face. But friends? Wow. Didn't know you thought so highly of me, Diggory."

Cedric's familiar cheek was back and full force as he tossed his head back in laughter, a few of their peers turning to look at them.

"You're the moon in my eyes, Little Snitch."

Gemma's chest bloomed with warmth as she grinned, head spinning as she danced with the boy who was finally her friend again. 

-

A week later, and the excitement for the Yule Ball had increased tenfold. If the hyperactive energy that had surrounded Fred and George's Quidditch Match was anything to compare to, the talk of the Ball had blown it completely out of the water. Everywhere they went, students were surrounded by discussion of outfits, decorations, guests, and perhaps most importantly, dates.

It seemed as if they couldn't make it through a single class without someone asking someone else to the dance. Even the professors had given up trying to quell the anticipation, and had joined in on the fun. During their final transfiguration class of the term, Professor McGonagall had had them stringing garlands with glittering ribbons to try and at least keep them sitting still. Now, just four days before Christmas, there was no hope for anything but chaos.

With no more classes, and only the anxiety-filled countdown to focus on, Hogwarts was practically bursting at the seams.

Gemma, Harry, Ron, and their fellow Gryffindor fourth years were all seated at dinner attempting, but failing, to talk about things that didn't involve the upcoming ball. They'd managed to get onto the topic of a recent professional Quidditch match when the universe decided it'd had enough of the distraction and produced another reason to circle back to discussion of the dance.

A large, heavy parcel had landed in front of Ron just as the table had been cleared for dessert. It was lumpy and wrapped in brown paper, tied at the center with a piece of twine. He looked at it curiously, shaking it around as if trying to guess what was inside.

"It's from my Mum," he said as he read the label that had been scrawled on the front of the package, "What in the bloody hell could she be sending me right before Christmas?"

"Well, if you'd open it up, maybe you'd find out," said Hermione.

Ron made a face at her before tugging at the string, letting it slide off the parcel. He tore through the wrappings, fingers fumbling against the paper as he pulled out what appeared to be a giant mess of ratty brown fabric. Unfolding it, layers of ruffles and ribbon revealed themselves, garish and ugly in the dim evening candlelight.

Lavender and Parvati let out a snort, Hermione and Gemma choked on their laughs, and Harry, Seamus, and Dean were straight-up bellowing. Ron held up the ancient-looking robes, cringing as he took them in.

The small cut on his temple crinkled. He'd received it as a result of Pansy's nails when he'd accidentally dropped her during a practice dip and she'd slapped him clear across the cheek.

"Ginny," Ron spoke up, voice hoarse in this throat, "I think Mum accidentally sent me your dress."

He thrust the tattered cloth toward her, but Ginny simply shook her head, biting her knuckles as she tried to control her soundless giggles.

"I'm not wearing that," she shook her head, "It's ghastly." 

"It's not for Ginny," Hermione half-scolded, half laughed, "It's dress robes. For you."

"For me?" Ron gaped, "She wants me to wear these?"

Finally, the girls gave up trying to hide their amusement as they shrieked alongside their friends. Ron's cheeks turned as red as a beetroot, plumes of flush tickling his smattering of freckles.

"Don't worry about it little brother," said Fred as he joined them at the table, George at his side as usual, "I'm sure your date won't mind...if she's blind."

"Oh, come on Fred," said George, nudging his twin, "Don't be mean. You know Ron hasn't even got a date."

This just sent the table into another round of cackling. Ron sunk lower on the bench, a deep frown etched on his face.

"You're ones to talk," he mumbled into his pudding, "Do you even have dates yourselves?"

"Yep," said George, grinning proudly.

"Asked Angelina this morning," beamed Fred, whacking Ron on the back of the head.

"Well, Ginny hasn't got a date!" exclaimed Ron, pointing accusingly at his sister as if that made his situation any better.

"Actually," Ginny spoke up, "I'm going with Isobel MacDougal. She asked me last week."

Ron's mouth gaped like a fish as he looked at all his friends, each shrugging in turn as they suggested they'd been asked.

"What about you Hermione? You're a girl."

"Nice observation," Hermione scowled at him, jabbing her fork into her piece of cake.

"Want to go to the ball with me?"

"No."

"Well, why not? It's one thing for me to not have a date, but a girl? That's just embarrassing," said Ron, shoving a spoonful of his dessert into his mouth.

"For your information, someones already asked me," hissed Hermione, glaring daggers at the red-head across the table, "And I said yes."

Abruptly she stood from the table, leaving her half-eaten cake behind as she stormed out of the Great Hall. Gemma felt Ron turn toward her, mouth opening slightly.

"Don't," she said, holding up her hand, "I've already been asked."

"By who?" inquired Parvati questioningly.

"By nearly every boy in the castle," said Ginny smugly, nudging Gemma with her shoulder.

"That's not true," Gemma grumbled, taking an aggravated bite of her cookie.

"Oh, please," Ginny shook her head, "Do you want me to list them all? Ernie Macmillan, Anthony Goldstein, Roger Malone, Oliver Rivers, Stephen Cornfoot, and not to mention those three Durmstrang lads."

"Geez, Gemma," Fred whistled, "What kind of love potion did you get your hands on? And can I have some?"

"So who did you pick?" prodded Parvati again. Lavender also leaned in closer to hear better.

"Um, no one, yet. I told them all I'd think about it," Gemma said shyly.

She hadn't been expecting to get asked to the ball at all if she was being honest. And now that she had quite the pool of choices, she was finding it very hard to choose. She barely knew any of the boys that had asked her, and despite her being happy for Seamus and Dean for successfully landing the girls they fancied, she couldn't help but wish either of them had asked her.

At least that way she could spend the night having fun with a friend.

"That's our little heartbreaker," said George, ruffling Gemma's hair as she swatted at him.

"What about you, Harry?" Gemma breathed, vying for a reason to get the attention off of her.

"Uh, I asked Cho," said Harry, pushing his glasses further up the bridge of his nose.

"And?"

"She said yes..." he spoke quietly, flush creeping up his neck.

"Atta boy!" clapped Fred.

"Congrats mate!" said Seamus, patting Harry roughly on the back.

Harry's smile grew slightly at the praise. Gemma didn't miss the way his gaze flicked over toward the Ravenclaw table.

The bell chimes echoed across the hall as everyone began to gather their things to head back up to the common rooms for the night, or to the library for those few dedicated students who still had the urge to study over the break.

Gemma sighed as she grabbed her bag, the weight of the egg significantly noticeable as she slung it over her shoulder. She stood with Ginny, waving goodbye to the boys who were still milling about as they joked, and headed back out toward the Entrance Hall. When they reached the third set of stairs they usually took up to Gryffindor Tower Gemma sighed, turning the opposite way to head up a different flight.

"Aren't you coming? I thought we could try on our dresses and test out some different hair charms for the ball!" said Ginny, brushing a few flyaways out of her face as if to prove her point.

Gemma's lips turned down as she huffed.

"No, unfortunately, I have detention tonight. Last one before the holidays."

Ginny scrunched her nose in obvious disgust.

"I don't know how you manage," she said, "Well if you get back early we may still be practicing if you want to join."

"Sounds great! It will give me some motivation to not kill myself," said Gemma.

With that, she turned on her heel and made her way up the familiar path toward the spare dorms where she and Draco had been serving their detentions. She pushed inside the small common room, a rush of cool air meeting her skin. Her arm hairs bristled beneath her heavy sleeves and she shuddered.

"Why is it so bloody cold in here?" Gemma spoke, teeth chattering.

Draco's back was to her as he stood facing the window, seemingly staring out over the dusk-laden landscape. Gemma set her bag on one of the armchairs, coming around so that she stood next to him in the shadow of the window.

A whiff of something strong and potent hit her nose and she gagged.

"Are you seriously smoking right now?" she asked, covering her face with her elbow.

Draco took another drag from the dying blunt, letting the smoke slip out into the night.

"I don't know what you're talking about," he mused.

The embers glowed dangerously close to his pale fingertips. He exhaled through his lips, a steady stream of grey parting them. Gemma watched as it swirled up, the same color as his eyes, and dissipated into nothingness.

"Since when did you smoke?" Gemma tried again, her curiosity getting the better of her, the properness in her itching to snuff out the butt.

Draco let out a long, languid sigh.

"Since when did you care what I do, Bane?" he asked, gaze snapping to hers.

She noticed now that the familiar steel was interlaced with veins of red.

"I care about not getting into any more trouble, Malfoy," she emphasized his last name, folding her arms across her chest, "Especially when my punishment involves spending time with you."

"I told you before," he chuckled, standing up so that he was no longer leaning against the windowsill, "I can always get you into trouble."

Gemma had to crane her neck slightly to look up at him. The shadows of the dim room fell like dark contours on his cheekbones. He looked eerily skeletal, all bones and sharp lines. Gemma couldn't help the shudder that spread up the length of her spine, dream skulls and snakes wrapping around her memory.

She watched as he took a final pull, before putting out the orange glow and tossing the remains into the rubbish bin. Deciding it was better if she just let him have the final word, Gemma soundlessly made her way over to the usual pile of supplies.

Draco appeared to already be rummaging through them, yet upon her approach, Gemma realized it wasn't the pillows and bedding he was rifling through but her school bag. 

"Hey!" she cried, lunging for the bag in his grip, "Give me that!"

He grinned evilly as he held it out of her reach, turning his back to her.

"Why? What do you have hidden in here?"

"Nothing, now give it back!" Gemma swatted at him, managing to grip one of the straps and tug.

Draco refused to let go as he held firmly onto it, tossing textbooks onto the nearby table as if they were nothing. They made horrifying thuds as they made contact with the wood, and Gemma cringed at the noise.

The boy certainly knew how to give her a headache.

"Seriously, Malfoy," said Gemma. She hated how whiny her voice sounded to her own ears.

Finally, she gave a mighty tug, but instead of the whole bag coming free from his grip, only one thing managed to slip from it. The one thing she didn't want him to find. It landed painfully on the ground, rolling to a stop at the base of the couch. Draco stared at it for a second before a sickeningly satisfied grin pushed at his cheeks.

"So that's why you've been walking like a hunchback for the past few weeks," he laughed, "Been carrying your stupid little prize with you everywhere so you can pretend you aren't always so pathetic?"

Gemma scowled as she hurried over and picked it up, brushing it off with the sleeve of her robes. It didn't look like it was damaged, but considering she still hadn't managed to discern what the clue was, how could she be sure he hadn't just broken it?

"You blithering idiot!" Gemma hissed, still rotating the egg in her hands, "You could've-you could've—"

She trailed off, ears hot with anger. When she'd thoroughly checked the outside, she let it rest against her hip, cradling it like she used to cradle Gideon when he threw a tantrum. Draco's bloodshot eyes rolled at her reaction, following her as she crossed the room toward him and snatched the still dangling bag from his grip. She maneuvered closer to the door as she shoved the egg back into its proper place.

Gemma opened her mouth to say something else about Draco's habit of being a royal pain in the ass, when suddenly the sound of voices in the hall stopped her. They sounded vaguely familiar, both urgent and hushed, but not quiet enough. Bits of their conversation floated beneath the crack of the door.

"Harry cannot find out. Sirius made that very clear," came a low, wise voice.

Dumbledore. It was unmistakably him.

"To hell with what Sirius thinks," came a second voice, growling and bitter.

"Now, Severus, do not let old vendettas cloud your judgment. You know he is right," said Dumbledore, "It is for the boy's own good that he is kept in the dark about this."

"But Professor..." Snape's voice faded as they presumably continued down the hall and out of hearing range.

Gemma's heart thundered heavily beneath her skin. There was something Dumbledore and Snape were keeping from Harry? And Sirius was in on it too?

All thoughts of detention and not getting in trouble seemed to be far lost as Gemma set down her bag, and began to creep toward the door. She peeled it open slowly, trying not to make too much noise in case they hadn't yet left the corridor. When the gap was big enough for her to stick her head out, she peered up and down the length of the hallway. They were gone, but their shadows dancing down the far left wall indicated which way they'd went.

Without second thought Gemma turned back to Draco, pointing a harsh finger at him.

"You stay here and just, I don't know, stay high," she said.

"What the hell-"

Gemma ignored Draco's gaping expression and turned, slipping out the door into the dark corridor.

She slunk down the hall, sticking close to the wall in case they decided to head back toward her. Her loafers seemed to echo too loudly, and she felt herself wincing whenever they made contact with the stone. Slowly, she made her way to the corner behind which Professor Dumbledore and Snape had disappeared. As she peered around it, she could see they had paused halfway down the hall.

She strained her ears to try to pick up any bits of their conversation that she could.

"I'm not sure how or why they were entered into the tournament," came Dumbledore's voice, clear and cool, "I wish I had answers for you, Severus."

"Aren't you the least bit concerned about what this means? If his followers know..."

"They can't know," Dumbledore cut Snape off abruptly, "It is imperative that they don't know."

"Didn't take you for eavesdropping, Bane," the harsh whisper came right next to her ear, and Gemma couldn't help the yelp of surprise she let out as Draco's breath met her neck.

She spun to face him, smacking him upside the head without hesitation.

"Wait, Professor...I heard-," Snape stopped Dumbledore in the middle of his sentence.

Gemma slapped a hand over Draco's mouth instinctively, and he glared at her beneath her palm. His eyes were still red, but the even grey was just as hard as ever.

She placed a finger to her lips to indicate he needed to keep quiet. She could hear Snape's footsteps as they made their way back toward where the two of them were hiding, growing louder as he drew nearer. They would never make it back to the room in time, Snape would catch them in their getaway. Gemma panicked, looking around for somewhere else to go.

In a split second, just as Snape rounded the corner, Gemma pulled Draco into one of the stone alcoves that lined the hall. It was a tight fit, the sliver of a window the stone archway adorned barely big enough for the both of them.

Gemma kept her hand pressed firmly against Draco's lips as she turned her head, listening. Snape seemed to have stopped, and she couldn't help the small breath of relief she let out as his footfalls became distant again.

Still, she strained to hear the tail ends of his and the Headmaster's confidential conversation.

"But what about the Bane girl? She needs to know, Professor," Snape said once he'd reached Dumbledore again.

Gemma's insides squirmed at the mention of her name. Did this have something to do with why her name came out of the Goblet as well? Was it not just some big mistake, some stupid prank, like she'd hope? Who was she kidding, of course it wasn't. She'd known that from the beginning.

"Gemma will find out when she is meant to find out, and not a moment sooner. I promise you, Severus, she does not need this on her conscience along with the tournament."

"If you insist, but I still think-" Snape's voice became barely a whisper as the two presumably continued their path down the opposite hallway, further into the depths of the castle.

Gemma's head was spinning as she turned back to face Draco. Her eyes were wide as she stared up into his, but instead of the hostility she was expecting, she saw that they were furrowed in confusion as well.

They were narrow as he studied her.

As if just remembering, Gemma slowly removed her hand from his mouth, her breathing unsteady as she tried to wrap her mind around what she just heard. Dumbledore and Snape knew something that they were purposefully keeping from her and Harry? Could this have anything to do with her mother and that woman, Lily Evans?

"What were you thinking Bane?" Draco asked, his voice low, as if it was coming from the base of his throat. But he didn't hiss or sneer like normal. It was a genuine question, albeit a tad aggressive.

Gemma had no clue what she had been thinking. All she knew was that she needed answers. The photograph, the tournament, Pip the Potions seller, and now this. Something weird was going on, and Gemma wanted to get to the bottom of it.

"I don't know," she said honestly, her voice just as quiet, "I don't know."

Draco was suddenly too close. He hadn't moved an inch since she'd dragged him into the alcove, but now that she wasn't desperately listening to hushed conversations and trying not to get caught, he seemed to be everywhere.

He was physically taking up her space, his aggravatingly toned body pressed dangerously up against hers.

He was breathing her air, his inhales mixing with her exhales.

His smell was in her nose, drugs and something she could only describe as cedarwood in the winter.

He was in front of her face, grey and green locked in something that wasn't quite comfortable, and yet neither of them moved.

Gemma could see Draco's hand lifting from the corner of her eye. She tried to steady her breathing as it neared her jaw, but instead of cupping her face, touching her skin as she expected, his fingers found the silken tail of the ribbon still tied up in her hair.

Draco thumbed the soft material, gaze locked on its red sheen.

"I hate this bloody ribbon," he murmured, as if to himself.

Yet his thumb and forefinger still rubbed it gently, absentmindedly.

Gemma's lips parted.

A door slammed.

Both of them appeared to have had a bucket of ice water dumped straight down their backs as they sprang apart, shoving their way out from under the stone archway and putting at least three meters of distance between them.

Draco was running his hands through his hair roughly, Gemma was clutching the back of her head where her ribbon hung, where his hands had been. He looked as if he was going to say something, Gemma could see his brain running a million miles a minute behind the reddened whites of his eyes.

But someone called her name, and she could see every thought cut itself off, locking itself behind the steely bars again as he glared at something over her shoulder.

"Gemma! There you are!"

Gemma whipped her head around, coming face to face with a partially out of breath Cedric.

"Cedric?" she questioned, "What are you doing here?"

"I tried to find you after dinner, but you'd already gone. So I asked around, and then Harry told me you had detention up here."

"Oh," Gemma said, shoulders relaxing as she tried to smile despite her stomach trying to escape up her throat, "Well, you found me. What do you need?"

Cedric looked slightly taken aback at her words, and Gemma closed her eyes, trying to calm herself.

"I just mean, what's up? I don't normally get visitors during detention."

Gemma could hear Draco scoff behind her and she twisted back to throw him a pointed look before facing Cedric again. His confident grin was back in place, and he took a step closer toward her.

"I was wondering, and I've already asked McGonagall, she said it's ok, because, you know, we're both champions and all, so I wasn't sure if that would mess with how things are run, and I overheard Ginny saying something about Ernie Macmillan but—"

"Cedric," Gemma chuckled, cutting him off as she laughed, thankful for the distraction from whatever it was that had just happened.

"Right, well. I was wondering if you wanted to go to the ball with me?"

This was the most nervous Gemma had ever seen Cedric look. Not even before the first task did he seem as out of his comfort zone as he did right then. His wide eyes were hopeful but tinged with worry, as if he wasn't sure what to do if she said no.

Gemma sucked in a breath, unsure why the word yes hadn't immediately left her lips. This was exactly what she wanted. She'd been wishing only a few hours earlier that one of her friends had asked her so she wasn't subjected to an awkward evening of unwelcome advantages.

Yet still, she hesitated.

Knowing she was being stupid, and that she'd surely have a wonderful evening with her friend, Gemma let an amused smile spread across her lips. She could see Cedrics shoulders visibly relax.

"Of course I'll go to the ball with you."

Cedric was beaming now, nodding as he took in her words.

"Alright. Cool. Yea, well, I'll meet you in the Entrance Hall then, beforehand?" he asked, beginning to back away.

"Sounds perfect," teased Gemma, "But if you step on my toes I might have to ditch you for a Durmstrang bloke!" she called after his retreating figure.

She could hear his laugh echoing behind him as he went.

Shaking her head, Gemma turned back around, only for her silly grin to be wiped immediately from her face. Draco was still standing there, the red seemingly vanished from his eyes, their pure coolness piercing her like fresh icicles in the gut.

All warmth that had somehow managed to find its way into the alcove had evaporated into the night air. Draco didn't blink. Didn't saying anything. That would've been too out of character. He simply turned on his heel and stalked off down the corridor in the opposite direction.

Gemma stood frozen in the empty hallway. Frosty air and hard lines and blank grey imprinted in her mind.

She touched the silk ribbon in her hair.

Was it a coincidence her favorite season had always been winter?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> DISCLAIMER:
> 
> I do not own any of the original Harry Potter characters, world, or plot. The stories and their livelihood belong to J.K. Rowling. Any characters, world-building, or plotlines that diverge from the original books alternatively are mine.
> 
> This story is also posted on Wattpad under the same username 'lacedpink'. Both of these accounts are owned by me. Any other postings are not authorized unless explicitly stated.


	18. Souhaitant

**_Chapter 19_ **   
**_SOUHAITANT_ **

_souhaitant_  
 _(_ _v.)_ _to_ _wis_ _h for_ _something_

 **CHRISTMAS** in the Bane household had always been a different level of spectacle. Most wizard families stuck to traditions similar to those held by Muggles, decorating trees, singing carols, kissing under the mistletoe. Though to be fair, the stars were usually replaced by frivolous gnomes, the carols were bellowed by tinny suits of armor, and the mistletoe bloomed magically overhead of those who fancied each other, whether they were aware of it or not.

Each year in their tiny home back in West Country, the Bane family took it upon themselves to totally transform their average-sized cottage into a winter wonderland worthy of awards.

The slated roof would drip with icicles sharp enough to puncture a lung, the windowsills trimmed with garlands like frosting on a gingerbread house. The small living room would be a sea of red and green, baubles and festive trinkets on every surface imaginable.

The toy train would wind itself beneath the base of an evergreen tree so elaborately decorated that its glittering light would blind guests upon their entry. Candles would float idly in the windows, creating a glow from within the quaint house that would appear welcoming even to those who were most disinclined to festivities.

Jocelyn could be found humming tunes from Muggle ballets under her breath as she whipped up batches of cookies and piles of roast potatoes, while her husband attempted to keep the kids in check and out of the way as they played with all their new toys. Eventually, as dusk set in and the light faded outside, the family would manage to squeeze together around their well-worn dining room table and feast themselves on the array of delicacies until their cheeks were pink with content.

But that was never Gemma's favorite part.

In fact, the entire day would often breeze by her in a blur of wrappings and ribbons as she tried to distract herself from the true excitement that always came after dinner. For prior to their evening meal, the day was dedicated to Happy Christmas' and good tidings, but after the ancient grandfather clock struck 6, it became the other day most anticipated by children.

Her birthday.

Gemma had arrived promptly and expectedly on the evening of December the 25th of 1979, to two loving, and admittedly young parents, who never failed to make the day special in the years following. Despite having to share space with the prominent holiday, Gemma had always felt that the coincidence of her birth made the celebration that much better.

After their Christmas dinner concluded, her mother would bring out an elaborately constructed cake, which always had some sort of magical surprise hidden inside. One year it had been a horde of chocolate frogs that had emerged croaking upon the first slice. Another year it had been butterflies, which Gemma chased around the kitchen for hours on end.

No matter what it was, Gemma found delight in the effort, and her parents found delight in watching their daughter smile. And every year, as she closed her eyes and blew out the candles to the rough chorus of song, she'd wish for the same thing.

Snow.

Unfortunately, on Gemma's 15th birthday, it did not appear that her wish had been granted.

As she sat up groggily in her four-poster, catching a glimpse of the grounds through the paned window of her dormitory, the rolling hills appeared bare and vacant of even a hint of frost. The frown on her face was subconscious and small, but there nonetheless.

Her birthday aside, who didn't want a white Christmas?

Gemma glanced around, her fellow roommates all oddly absent from their beds. Overturned comforters suggested they hadn't even taken the time to make them up, and her brows furrowed in confusion. She was surprised to see they were already awake, seeing as the night before most of the Gryffindor girls had sat crammed into the fifth year's room, trying on their dresses for the Yule Ball, practicing beauty spells, and giggling until well past lights out.

Gemma, Hermione, Parvati, and Lavender had reluctantly retired to their quarters still in fits of laughter and knots of hair at 3 am, but the distant chime of the bells suggested that it was a bright and early 8 am now.

Curious as to where they had all disappeared to, Gemma slid from the comfort of her sheets, her bare feet meeting the warm wood flooring. Hurriedly, she slipped into a pair of trousers and a thick sweater, wrestling her still horrendously charmed hair into a tight bun at the nape of her neck to get it out of the way.

With a last, longing look at the disappointingly green grass outside, Gemma slipped from their room. She took the stairs down to the common room two at a time, so preoccupied with the lack of white dusting outside that she nearly screamed in unison with the crowd awaiting her as she emerged into the cheery space.

They all shouted enthusiastically over top of one another, some choosing to wish her a Merry Christmas whilst others chose to go for the birthday greetings, creating an odd mix that sounded a lot like _Happy Christmirthday, Gemma!_

Her grin nearly reached her ears as she pressed a hand to her startled heart, surveying the group before her.

Harry, Ron, Hermione, and Ginny were all front and center, smiling back at her, Ron's eyes blinking sleepily as he let out an exaggerated yawn. Fred's mop of hair kept making occasional appearances behind them as he hopped up and down on one of the couches, a noisemaker between his lips. He blew it merrily to a combined tune of _Jingle Bells_ and _Happy Birthday._

George was setting off what appeared to be miniature fireworks, which upon combustion created a dazzling illusion of a flying Gemma zipping about on her broom. Her sparky clone dashed about in the rafters, exploding into specs of gold.

Parvati, Lavender, Dean, Seamus, and the Creevey brothers had also made an appearance, all still dressed in their pajamas and clutching steaming mugs of dark liquid.

Hermione was the first to engulf Gemma in a hug as she descended the final few steps onto the large lavish rug.

"Happy Birthday, Gemma!" Hermione exclaimed, squeezing her tightly.

"Happy Christmas, Hermione!" said Gemma warmly, returning the gesture.

She noticed all the Weasley's, with the exception of Ginny, were wearing their yearly matching sweaters knit by Molly. Even Harry adorned a creation of blue yarn, a giant letter _H_ stitched into the front. It's woolen texture scratched at Gemma's cheek as she gave him a hug as well.

She was ceremoniously passed from one friend to the next, exchanging pleasantries with each of them in turn before Hermione and Ginny each took up one of her elbows and guided her over to one of the armchairs beside the towering stacks of presents.

The Christmas tree itself took up an entire corner of the common room, it's dazzling baubles sparkling in the light of the fire, glittering brilliantly in the orange glow. Since the entire school was staying for the duration of the holiday season due to the tournament, the number of parcels beneath the lower branches was astonishing.

Some had clearly already been taken as there were gaps in the numerous towers, but the amount that remained was still a sight to behold. A particularly lumpy parcel threatened to topple over onto Fred's head as he moved into the circle with the rest of the group.

A stunning, wrapped gift broke Gemma's tree-admiring gaze as it was placed lightly in her lap.

Hermione beamed back at her.

"Well, go on, open it!" she said, sitting so she was cross-legged and staring up at Gemma like a child in primary school.

But Gemma had barely managed to tug at the ribbon when the gift was snatched from her hands and replaced with another.

"I think ours deserves to go first, don't you think Fred?"

"Agreed, George. The birthday girl deserves to start off her gift-getting strong, I'd say," said Fred, nodding cheekily along with his brother.

"Hey!" Hermione frowned, picking up her discarded present, "What makes you think your present is so much better than mine?"

"I'd say anything we could've got her beats a lousy book," mused George.

Hermione's mouth, which was half-open in an effort to interrupt, slammed shut almost instantly. Gemma couldn't help the small chuckle from escaping her lips.

"If yours is the best, shouldn't you want her to save it for last, then?" said Ginny, hands tucked into the pockets of her robe, eyes crinkling at her brothers' silliness.

"Why, no, dear sister," said Fred, "Everyone knows dessert should always be eaten before dinner."

The twins had handed Gemma a very plain looking box with her name scrawled across the top in messy red ink. In addition to the barely legible letters, there was a stick figure drawing of what appeared to be Fred, George, and Gemma, all holding equally stick-like brooms. It looked like they had all been struck by lightning.

Gemma shook her head at the illustration, finally prying open the flaps of the box and peering at its contents.

An array of Zonko's best sellers filled the cardboard to the brim, enough prank supplies to last her for the rest of her days at Hogwarts barely being contained. Screaming Yo-Yos, Stink Pellets, and Ever-Bashing Boomerangs were crammed against each other, threatening to escape their confines. There were even some odd packages with names that Gemma didn't recognize stuffed inside, and she plucked one out carefully, turning it over in her hands.

"We've included some of our own prototypes," said George proudly.

"Only the ones we know won't kill you," he amended after Hermione sent him a scarily authoritative glare.

"Thank you guys," said Gemma happily, embracing both of the twins.

Next in the line of succession came Ginny's present, which was a box of delicious-looking Honeydukes candies and a new pair of tights.

 _Since I know you haven't bothered to mend your other ones,_ she'd explained.

Ron then gifted a special edition poster of the Holyhead Harpies in their most recent uniforms, Parvati and Lavender together gave her a beautiful, leather-bound journal, Dean and Seamus a brand new wizard chess set, and the Creevey brothers her very own hand-crafted pin with her face on it.

Hermione's was expectedly a collection of Muggle books, the three remaining in the series she'd given Gemma to read over the summer.

Finally, it was Harry's turn, who looked a bit sheepish as he handed his over.

It was small, only about the size of her fist, and was wrapped neatly and cleanly. Gemma gently undid the paper covering, letting the square, blue velvet box beneath land softly in her lap. Her breath caught in her throat as she cracked its lid, an audible gasp passing her lips.

"Oh, Harry," she breathed, "It's beautiful!"

Resting on a soft, tiny pillow was a miniature Snitch-shaped gold pendant.

It was attached to a dainty chain and shimmered expensively in the early morning sun. Gemma touched it in awe, running her finger carefully against its itty bitty wings.

"I can't accept this," she said, looking back up at a warm-faced Harry, "It's too much."

Harry scratched at the back of his neck awkwardly as he shook his head, insisting.

"I thought you could use a new good luck charm, ya know, after you transfigured your last one and gave it over to a dragon."

Gemma let out a silent laugh of disbelief, gaze flitting between the delicate charm and Harry's face. He cut her off before she could argue even further.

"Besides, think of it as payment for covering for me and saving the team from embarrassment at the Quidditch match," said Harry.

"Ok," sighed Gemma, reluctantly yet finally accepting the gift as she stood and wrapped Harry in a thankful hug, "But please don't ever tell me how much it cost or I'll make Dobby return it for you."

"Deal."

The remainder of the morning was spent exchanging even more gifts, this time between all parties, and indulging in the hot chocolate and pasties that Fred and George had managed to smuggle up from the kitchens.

Eventually, the boys headed out to fit in a quick scrimmage before the evening's festivities, and the girls each split off to fill their afternoons in their own company.

Gemma was a little over half-way through one of the books Hermione had given her when she'd been dragged from her spot in front of the fire and up to the girls' dormitories again to begin the onslaught of ball preparations. Girls were darting back and forth from room to room, exchanging jewels, tips, and charms in their rush to get ready.

It was as if someone had set loose a flock of chickens, what with all the screeching and running about. A sixth year had even accidentally sent her hem on fire when attempting to dry her hair, her cries still muffled through the thick brick wall.

There was now less than an hour before they were expected in the Entrance Hall, and Gemma felt like she might faint. As the day had worn on she had been kept decently distracted by her reading, but now staring at herself all dressed up in the vanity mirror, the nerves were overwhelming.

The wailing echoing through the dormitory certainly didn't help either.

Gemma's hair was pulled back in its usual half-up style, but instead of a simple twist, an elaborate combination of charmed braids met at the back of her head in a rose-like knot. The only thing left to do was to add the final touches, but her shaking hands meant she kept stabbing herself repeatedly with the jeweled hairpins.

After what must've been her thirtieth cry of pain, Ginny emerged from behind her, smiling knowingly. She held out her hand, and Gemma placed the bits of metal into her open palm.

"Breathe," said Ginny reassuringly, beginning to tuck the pins into the folds of Gemma's hair, "You look beautiful."

"No one's going to care how beautiful I look if I fall on my face," Gemma grumbled, sinking lower on the stool she was perched on, "They'd all be too busy laughing."

"That's not true. They'd all be too busy staring at your arse as you stood back up," replied Ginny cheekily, quirking her brows at her through the mirror.

A smile ghosted across Gemma's features as she laughed lightly, the tension easing a bit at her friends joking. She watched as Ginny reached over her shoulder toward the vase on the table, plucking out a few stems of baby's breath from the bouquet. She brought a finger to her lips sneakily as she whispered, "They'll never know."

Humming as she wound the flowers into the strands of Gemma's hair, Ginny seemed perfectly calm and serene, as if attending balls was an everyday occurrence for her.

She certainly looked the part.

Her flaming hair fell in voluminous, shiny sheets around her face, forming a fiery halo that gleamed under the lamplight. The flush on her cheeks looked natural and rosy, the charcoal smudges around her eyes emphasized their alluring wideness, and her freckled skin paired well with the soft green of her dress. It was impossible not to be drawn to her the second she walked into a room.

There was a reason the youngest Weasley was so popular. Her confidence was magnetic.

Gemma couldn't help but wish she could bottle some of it up and down it like a vat of polyjuice.

When Ginny had finished her handiwork, Gemma stood shakily, finally taking in her appearance in its entirety.

The starry-eyed girl staring back at her ran her hands over the elaborate layers of blush-colored tulle, as if pressing it down would make her any less noticeable. Her hair now held intricate boughs of white stems, silky strands falling down her back. Gemma touched the snitch around her neck, her reflection mirroring her actions.

It was hard to believe the golden girl was the same person.

Ginny gripped Gemma's shoulders comfortingly. 

"Cedric is going to die when he sees you!" she said.

Gemma laughed airily at the sentiment, squeezing one of Ginny's hands with her own.

"I hope not. That would cause an even bigger commotion than me falling."

After double-checking they both had their wands tucked securely into their bodices, the two of them made their way down through the common room and out into the halls, taking care not to snag anything as they exited the portrait hole.

"You two look lovely!" the Fat Lady called joyfully after them, "Have fun tonight!"

Even from the sixth floor, the sounds of excited students could be heard winding their way up through the castle. It grew louder still as they approached the marble staircase leading down to the Entrance Hall. Gemma found herself slowing significantly as they neared the foyer, the familiar thrum of nerves twisting around the base of her spine.

Ginny's grip on her arm kept her moving though, and before she knew it they had crested the top of the stairs.

Looking down over her classmates gathered below, none of them seemed to pay the two girls much mind. They were all too busy chatting amongst one another and meeting up with their designated dates, each excited and nervous in their own regard.

Much to Gemma's relief, she and Ginny made it safely down the stairs and toward their awaiting friends with no major mishaps.

Harry and Ron were standing with their dates at the base of the grand steps, Harry looking dapper in his black dress robes, and Ron looking like he'd gotten in a fight with Crookshanks, the frills of around his collar withered with age. Cho was dressed in an elegant silver ensemble, arm looped through Harry's, and Padma looked radiant in the brilliant shades of a deep sunset as she stood somewhat awkwardly beside Ron.

Gemma and Ginny waved at the four of them in greeting as they made their way over, shoes tapping satisfyingly against the marble.

"Harry, Cho, Padma," said Ginny happily, "You all look wonderful!"

"What about me?" asked Ron, gaping exasperatedly at his sister.

Ginny looked him up and down disapprovingly, nose wrinkled.

"You look like Aunt Muriel," she replied honestly.

Everyone tried to hide their snickers at her comment, Padma forcing a very unconvincing cough. Ron slouched in annoyance, not even bothering to defend his outfitting.

"Where's Hermione?"

Ron's face seemed to grow even more miserable as Cho pointed off towards the doors of the Great Hall where the mass of Durmstrang and Beauxbatons students had congregated.

"Over there, with Viktor Krum!"

Sure enough, to both Gemma and Ginny's surprise, Hermione was standing alongside the world-famous Quidditch player, laughing at something one of his brutish companions had said. Her hair had been wrestled magically into gorgeous ringlets, the sky-blue of her dress making the normally bland locks look like shining boughs of mahogany.

She was almost unrecognizable in the evening light.

"That's who asked her!" Ginny cried in realization, "How dare she keep such a thing a secret!"

"Can't blame her, really," offered Padma, "She'd have been hexed around every corner if his fan club had found out."

Gemma couldn't help but resonate with Hermione's decision to keep her date's identity a secret. Dodging jinxes in the hallway was an unpleasant and tiring feat to endure.

"Well, I'm going to go heckle her about it," said Ginny determinedly, "And I should really go find Isobel, or she'll think I ditched her."

She gave a worrying Gemma another confident flash of her teeth.

"I'll see you inside!"

With that, the red-head departed from the group, winding her way through the crowd to locate her date, footsteps muffled by the murmur as she retreated. Ginny's place in their small circle wasn't vacant very long though, as Luna slipped in to fill it, Neville standing proudly at her side.

"Hello, everyone!" said Luna, voice even dreamier than usual.

Her purple dress shimmered prettily as if a million tiny pixies were hidden beneath it, and the crystalline stars and moons that made up her elaborate crown headpiece twinkled realistically.

"Gemma," she said, turning toward her, "You look absolutely fairy-like."

"Thank you Luna," said Gemma appreciatively, "So do you."

Abruptly, the bells began to chime overhead, the energy in the Entrance Hall spiking as they rang out eight times in succession. As if on cue, the doors to the Great Hall opened wide, finally giving everyone a glimpse at the elaborate transformation that had taken place inside.

It didn't even look like Hogwarts anymore, the place where they usually ate their meals completely transfigured into a breathtaking wintery wood.

The walls seemed to be made of solid ice, arching in high beams overhead. Dozens of Christmas trees even larger than the one in the common room lined the front of the hall, a stage set up just underneath them with various instruments strewn across it.

Circular tables filled up most of the space, with towering icy centerpieces stretching up from their centers, golden plates and goblets set around them.   
Garlands wound around the torch hangings, mistletoe dangling from their ends.

In the center of the room was the dance floor, it's surface so glassy it looked just like a frozen lake.

Gemma stared dumbfounded along with the rest of her classmates. She hadn't seen something so festive since before her father died.

Everyone immediately started filing into the empty hall at once, the chattering doubled tenfold as people pointed in every direction in awe.

Gemma found herself scanning the crowd as it moved.

"I just saw Cedric over there a few moments ago," offered Luna helpfully, gesturing toward the far left side of the foyer where Seamus, Hannah Abbott, and a few older Hufflepuffs were gathered.

"Oh, um, thanks," said Gemma a bit taken aback.

Her stomach churned uncomfortably, suddenly feeling very sick as she realized the eyes she had been searching for in the sea of people hadn't been warm and brown, but chilling and grey.

It wasn't difficult to pick him out of the buoyancy, for in the sea of students he was a heavy, melancholy anchor.

Draco has dressed in an extremely fine set of dress robes, one's that had probably cost his parents a heavy set of Galleons. His pressed black bow tie was tight at his throat, hair parted in its usual slant, although perhaps a bit more controlled than usual.

Other than the change of attire, he looked exactly the same as he always did. Bitter and cold.

Pansy Parkinson was clutching at his left arm, her nude gown swishing just below her knees, its black velvet piping emphasizing her tiny waist. She was prattling along with the frilly-in-pink Daphne Greengrass, who was similarly attached to a boisterous looking Theodore Nott.

Gemma watched as they moved along with the flow of people, unable to draw her gaze away from the stark blonde.

His broad shoulders were emphasized by the black silhouette of his clothes, and even though he looked absolutely miserable, it was still infuriatingly impossible for him to look bad.

The cohort of Slytherins had nearly crossed the threshold into the Great Hall when suddenly steel met emerald and Gemma felt like she had been caught stealing candy from the corner store. Draco's eyes locked on hers, as blank and sterile as ever as they slid down the length of her body once, agonizingly slow.

It appeared he found nothing of interest, as he turned without any other acknowledgment of her presence and disappeared amongst the rest of the ball attendees with Pansy still at his side.

The air whistled harshly between Gemma's teeth as her shoulders sagged, hand to her forehead as she felt her face heat with embarrassment. Her breath was ragged as if she had just sprinted across the grounds.

Draco Malfoy had just caught her checking him out.

Why was it the most cruel-hearted people were never ugly?

He would surely bring that up at their next detention. Gemma let out an audible groan.

"The ball hasn't even started and yet you already sound like you want to go to bed! I promise I'm not that bad of a date."

Cedric looked as if he'd walked off the pages of a catalog at Madam Malkin's as he approached her. Even in the pale blue light emanating from the ballroom, his hair was as warm and comforting as a cup of milky tea, smile wide and relaxed. It was as if someone had just placed a blanket over Gemma's shivering shoulders, the heat his presence provided a welcome comfort.

Not to mention a decent distraction from her slip of embarrassment.

"You may not be, but I certainly can't say as much for myself," Gemma grumbled, acutely aware of the now nearly vacant foyer.

Ron, Padma, Luna, and Neville were the last ones entering the Great Hall, finally leaving Harry and Cho as they went to go find their seats.

The champions were the only students remaining. Hermione and Viktor stood off to the side with Fleur and her date Roger Davies, still engaged in what looked like a riveting conversation.

"Well, then I'll just have to pick up your slack," said Cedric, "Shouldn't be hard, with all these dashing good looks. No one will even notice the walking catastrophe on my arm."

"Ha ha," mused Gemma sarcastically, failing to hide her growing smile.

"Champions, over here please!" Professor McGonagall called out then, beckoning them toward her with her arms.

She too was adorned in her own dress robes, the deep, tartan red a perfect match to the holly berries wound around the brim of her hat. The champions and their dates all approached her shyly, taking up spots just out of view of the double doors and the rest of their classmates.

"You will enter the Great Hall in procession, starting with Miss Delacour and Mr. Davies. Once you reach the center of the floor, I will cue Mr. Filch to start the first waltz. When the dance has concluded, you may take your seats at the head table for the feast, and enjoy the rest of your night."

She seemed to think better of her last statement as she added, "Within reason!" with a stern point of her finger.

Fleur looked as poised as ever as she took up her spot with Roger at the front of the line, linking her arm through his. Roger watched her movements as if mesmerized, entranced by his good fortune at somehow managing to land her as a date.

Hermione and Viktor were next, and the book-worm giggled as he whispered something into her ear. Then came Harry and Cho, Harry looking like he would rather be anywhere else, and Cho her usual well-mannered self. She seemed to be trying to distract Harry as she talked quietly to him about something Gemma couldn't hear.

Cedric turned then, hand outstretched.

"Shall we?" he asked, dipping into a slightly exaggerated bow.

Gemma shook her head, allowing him to take her fingers between his.

"To the gallows," she sighed jokingly, but grinned nonetheless.

Cedric's easy demeanor seemed to spread through Gemma's palm and up her arm as he took her hand, coaxing her tense muscles as they arrived to their spot at the end of the line.

But just as soon as the relief had come, Professor McGonagall was leading them forward and into the Great Hall.

The students were all sat at their individual tables, applauding as they craned their necks to get a good glimpse at the pairs as they paraded down the long center aisle. Gemma's arms suddenly felt itchy against the faux-sleeves of her dress, and her grip tightened on Cedric's hand.

He squeezed back, as if trying to remind her he was still there next to her, guiding them to the middle of the hall.

The beauty of the room was almost completely lost to her, the only thing registering the sparkling stars suspended in the enchanted ceiling as she sent a silent prayer to Merlin.

Finally, the champions came to a stop, turning to face their partners. Cedric simply spun Gemma slightly so that their fronts were now pressed together, same hands held up to the side, his other gripping her waist lightly.

Gemma's clutch on his shoulder was viselike.

"Ease up there, the floor isn't actually ice, you won't slip," whispered Cedric into her ear, eyes twinkling in amusement at her tense expression.

"I wouldn't speak so soon," Gemma hissed back under her breath, throwing a weary glance around at the watching audience.

"Hey," Cedric said, drawing Gemmas attention back to his face, "I won't let you fall. Seeker's honor."

She tried to let his words soothe her, but she still bit at her lip in worry. She could feel the hundreds of eyes on her, slipping against her skin. She'd managed to fight a dragon in front of them, and yet she couldn't seem to muster up the courage to perform a measly dance.

"Did I mention you look absolutely gorgeous tonight?"

Gemma didn't even have time to respond as the first notes echoed against the frosty walls and the first waltz began, heart beating a spastic rhythm in perfect time with the vibrant tune. Cedric nudged her foot just as he had in practice, reminding her to move, and suddenly they were dancing.

So far so good, they twirled delicately across the floor. They spun about amongst the other champions, flowing in and out of the different formations in tandem with the music. Harry and Cho passed by in a blur of black and silver, and Gemma found herself laughing as Cedric hoisted her up in a lift at exactly the right time.

It was easy with him.

Easy to forget about the prying eyes and endless gossip that had followed her around for months.

There, spinning about in the center of the Great Hall on Christmas, none of it mattered. Not the tournament, not the nonstop rumors, not even a certain irritating detention partner.

Gemma realized with a start that she was actually enjoying dancing.

For the first time in what felt like forever, she was having fun.

Others had joined the champions on the dance floor, Professor McGonagall and Dumbledore jaunting gayly a few couples away from them. Neville was whisking Luna about expertly, and Gemma could've sworn she even saw a flash of nude chiffon and stiff black in her peripheral.

Almost too soon, the final few bars stretched out over the crowd, ringing against the frosted walls. Gemma and Cedric released their hold on each other, Gemma sinking into a surprisingly steady curtsey.

When she rose, Cedric was beaming at her.

"Now, that wasn't so bad was it?"

Gemma grinned.

"You're lucky you still have all your toes!"

The champions and other various couples who had joined in on the first dance were quickly shepherded out of the way and back to their seats where delicious platters of food had made an appearance.

It was the picture-perfect Christmas dinner, mouthwatering roasts, pies of every shape, size, and flavor, and more side dishes than one could eat covering the shiny tablecloths.

With her nerves successfully subsided, Gemma didn't deny her aching stomach its requests and dug in. Her appetite returned in full force as she and the other champions ate, casual discussion floating between them and a few of the teachers who were also sat at the head table.

Ludo Bagman was doing a very good job at boring Harry with his pointless rambling.

Toward the end of dessert, Hagrid was happily chatting with Gemma and Cho about the new habitat he'd built for the Nifflers when a somewhat disturbing clatter arose from the side room where Gemma and Harry had been questioned about their entrance into the tournament.

The distinct sound of wood hitting flesh and a muffled cry of pain could be heard from behind the door. After a moment of muttered shushes it banged open with a clang, and a group of eight oddly dressed wizards emerged, still arguing quietly. They were dressed in costumes of black furs and artfully ripped leather robes, silver studs lining their heavy boots as they trod their way up the steps and onto the stage.

The light of the hall seemed to dim significantly, spotlighting the strange-looking men as they each grabbed their designated instruments.

"No way," whispered Cho in disbelief, "How did they manage to get The Weird Sisters?"

Gemma watched the wizard rock group as they tuned their guitars, the shock on Cho's face mimicked on her own.

"But those are all blokes!" said Harry, jumping at the excuse to dodge another one of Ludo's attempts at conversation.

"They're not actually sisters Harry, it's the name of their band!" said Hermione from further down the table.

"And they're bloody brilliant!" added Gemma, starstruck.

Her father's taste for the group's many soundtracks had made her a fan since she was in nappies, posters clinging to every inch of free space in her bedroom at home. The last birthday before he died he'd gotten them tickets to see them in concert the following summer.

Gemma still had the unused ticket stubs tucked in her desk drawer.

"Are you ready Hogwarts?" Myron Wagtail, the lead singer called out into the microphone, his voice scratchy as if he'd just woken up from a long nap.

Upon his invitation, all the students immediately fled their seats, scrambling over one another to get as close to the famous musicians as they could. The empty dance floor was flooded instantly, a mass of jostling and jabbing elbows, screams of adoring fans tearing up from its depths.

The champions were all sitting restlessly in their seats as they watched, unsure if they were allowed to move from the raised dais.

Not caring if she got yelled at, Gemma stood suddenly, turning to Cedric who had been seated beside her. This time, it was she who offered her hand.

"You taught me how to waltz, now it's my turn to teach you how to rock."

Cedric grabbed her hand, standing up with a blinding grin.

"Lead the way," he laughed.

Gemma tugged him behind her as they descended the steps, merging into the crowd.

The Weird Sisters struck the first chord of their song and everyone went wild, jumping up and down as they waved their hands crazily. The rest of the champions had followed her and Cedric's lead, joining the rest of the mob as they started to move their bodies erratically to the beat.

Gemma was gripping both of Cedric's hands in her own, twisting them back and forth as he stood there.

"Loosen up," she prodded, shaking his arms.

He simply chuckled, doing as she said and letting his body relax as they danced sillily, bouncing and bobbing along with everyone else.

Hermione and Viktor were right next to them, screaming along to the lyrics. Cho was having a difficult time getting Harry to do anything besides standstill, but eventually, upon the arrival of Ron and Padma to their section of the dance floor, he managed to loosen up.

By the seventh song, his hair was thoroughly mussed as he head-banged along.

Ginny and Isobel had also managed to find them again, and Gemma's chest swelled, uncontrollable happiness bubbling from her mouth in the form of singing giggles as she danced with her friends. She and Ginny grasped each other's forearms as they whipped their heads back and forth to the climax of a song, hair hitting their cheeks.

Amidst their excited thrashing, Gemma saw a flicker of something toward the center of the throng of people.

It looked almost like a trick of the light, but as she slowed the movement of her head, only bouncing lightly on her toes, she realized that what she was seeing was definitely not a figment of her imagination.

Beneath the darkened ceiling, Draco Malfoy was not only dancing, but _smiling._

Theo had his arms around Draco and Blaise Zabini's shoulders as they jumped, Pansy and Daphne cackling from beside them as they spun rambunctiously around each other.

As Gemma watched on dazedly from a distance, she realized this was the first time she'd ever seen Draco look truly happy.

Sure, he'd smiled before, but it was always sarcastic or mocking. It usually came with an insult, or after Gemma had a brush with death, something he was no stranger to admitting he wished upon her.

Yet the tilt of his lips now as he shook his head at his friends was surprisingly genuine, and it made Gemma squirm where she stood.

Because the lack of cold, hard mask made Draco uncomfortably human.

Ginny's hands grasped Gemma's wrists tighter as she raised them above both of their heads, pulling her into an alternating false tango and successfully breaking her studious gaze from Draco's dancing. She tried to push the image from her mind as she was handed back off to Cedric, who spun her widely, eyes wild with pure joy.

The dancing continued for the better part of the night, and it was nearly half-past eleven when the Weird Sisters finally announced they would be taking their leave. The congregation of students had started to thin by then, couples escaping to less crowded corners and friends turning in for early nights.

Still, Gemma and all her friends remained, but now they were seated at Neville and Luna's table, giving their tired feet a rest. Hermione and Viktor were slow dancing for the second time, and Ron was muttering bitterly under his breath.

"She's fraternizing with the enemy, she is! He's Harry and Gemma's competition!"

"Then what is Cedric?" asked Ginny, referencing Gemma's date who was standing behind her chair, hands cupping her shoulders softly.

Ron seemed to splutter slightly before finding his words.

"Well, at least he's a Hogwarts student! Besides, we know he's a good guy."

"Or so you think," Cedric posed, quirking his eyebrow in a kidding manner.

Gemma slapped one of his hands as the rest of their small group laughed.

"Who's a good guy?" said Hermione as she came up to the table, Viktor's arm hugging her close to his side. Their crawling ballad had concluded.

"Not him, that's for sure," Ron grumbled, nodding his head toward Viktor's grip on her waist.

Hermione frowned down at him. She turned to Viktor then, placing a delicate hand on his chest.

"Would you mind getting me a drink? All the dancing has made me quite parched," she asked kindly, eyelashes fluttering.

"Of course," said Viktor, giving her a solid nod before letting her go and marching toward the long buffet table where bowls of punch and bottled butterbeer had been placed for grabs.

"Why must you be so fowl, Ronald?" Hermione hissed, all pleasantness absent from her features.

"Me? You're the one off flirting with someone who's trying to beat our friends in the tournament!" said Ron, gesturing to himself before pointing an accusatory finger in her direction.

"It's a bloody game, Ron! A game!" Hermione was all but screeching, cheeks puffed in anger.

"And you're doing everything in your power to make sure Harry and Gemma lose! You never liked the idea of the tournament. And now you're giving away all our secrets to little Vikky!"

Ron was now standing toe to toe with Hermione, glaring down at her heaving form.

Cedric coughed awkwardly.

"Uh, sounds like they're starting up the last dance of the evening. Gemma? Would you care to escape this lovers quarrel?"

Gemma gratefully took his arm as she rose from her seat, nodding incessantly.

"Please," she all but begged, following him hurriedly to the significantly less populated dance floor.

Harry, Cho, Luna, and Neville also managed to escape, leaving an arguing Hermione and Ron to be mediated by Ginny.

Gemma and Cedric took up their positions as the gramophone scratched, the final song of the night beginning to pour out of its large horn. It was slow as it began, sliding delicately over them as they swayed gracefully.

At the first uptick, the girls were spun, passing from their date's arms to that of the person next to them. Gemma found herself clinging to Harry, who smiled down at her.

"How's your night going?" he asked, glasses sparkling beneath the ceiling.

"Honestly?" she breathed, "It's exactly what I needed."

Harry nodded knowingly.

"Me too."

He then passed her off to Cedric again. Cedric lifted her high, then set her down in the embrace of her next partner, who, to her dismay, was a very enthusiastic looking Ernie Macmillan.

"Gemma!" he exclaimed, "Would you look at that! May not be my date, but I still managed to steal a dance from you."

Gemma chuckled awkwardly as he dipped her awfully.

He talked to her nonstop throughout the rest of their turn about the floor, insisting that if she had agreed to go with him they would've been long since gone from the ballroom. Forcing a grimace-like smile on her face, Gemma was relieved when she was finally handed off again.

She floated about, dress swirling around her ankles like pale clouds of mist at dawn. She let her eyes fall closed as she was lifted over to the grip of her final partner of the dance, sighing with the swell of the music. She felt peaceful, as if nothing could disturb the small bubble of serenity she'd managed to create for herself amongst the recent chaos of her life.

And then it shattered.

Because she was in the arms of Draco Malfoy and he was staring at her with flashing steel irises.

Gemma gasped, unable to control her reaction as she felt her fingers slide into his. The ghost of the smile he had moments before had disappeared at the sight of her, and his nostrils flared.

And yet, he didn't stop.

Together they continued to move across the floor, Draco's large right hand splayed over the expanse of Gemma's waist, her delicate one achingly close to the collar of his crisp white dress shirt. The air felt thick, as if bogged down by a heavy smog. Gemma had to remind herself to breathe as he turned her.

They still had at least another few minutes of the waltz to get through before it would reach its final peak. The silence was almost choking.

"Ehm," Gemma cleared her throat, "You, uh..."

She couldn't seem to find anything to say.

Draco's brow quirked as he watched her fumble over her words.

"Spit it out, Bane," he said, the breath of his words causing a strand of her hair to tickle her forehead.

"I-"

Still, Gemma came up with nothing.

What was she supposed to say? You look disgustingly not hideous and I hate you for it?

Over her dead body.

"I know I often render women speechless," he sighed, dare she say, jokingly, "But you really must try and contain the absolute desperation. It's not very flattering on you."

Gemma's blank look became narrow as she glared at him.

"Maybe you should tell that to Pansy," she countered, tilting her head toward where the glowering raven-haired girl was spinning with Theo a few meters away. If they had been taught wandless magic yet, Gemma was sure she would've been turned into a toad by now.

"Jealousy, another unbecoming trait," said Draco haughtily as he spun her out wide.

Gemma's mouth was open to throw a retort when she paused at the end of his fingertips.

It wasn't as broad or clear as before, but sure enough, the beginning traces of a smile seemed to be quirking up the sides of his usually flat mouth.

This time, Gemma really was speechless.

Draco reeled her back in with a tug, sending her careening into his hard chest. She righted herself hastily, trying not to miss any steps as she abruptly attempted to change the subject. 

"Of what?" she asked, "Having to put up with you every day? I'd say that's hardly something to be jealous of."

Then she added cheekily, knowing it would catch him off guard, "So, you're a fan of The Weird Sisters?"

If she didn't know any better she'd think Draco's cheeks were actually tinged slightly pink.

"I don't know what you're talking about," he said, cold expression back in place.

"Really?" she mused, "Because I could've sworn I saw you singing along to _Do the Hippogriff_ earlier..."

Draco tilted his chin higher, avoiding her gaze.

"You must have had too much butterbeer, Bane," he stated simply.

"Sure," she said, unable to stop the laugh from escaping her lips.

He watched her thoughtfully for a second, seemingly studying her hairline.

"What?" she questioned, removing her hand from his shoulder to self-consciously touch the braided strands.

"No ribbon," he said matter-of-factly, pointing out the absence of her usual accessory.

"Oh, yea," Gemma said, relaxing into his hold again, "Thought I'd try something a bit different. It is a ball after all."

"Hmm," he hummed, nodding slightly, "You know, for how clumsy you are, you're not a half-bad dancer."

"Careful, Malfoy. That sounded dangerously like a compliment."

"And so what if it was?"

Gemma was the one blushing now, as she let her hand slide from her hair, fidgeting with the chain that hung from her neck nervously. Draco's gaze followed, watching as she touched the golden snitch, his face hardening as he took in its round shape against her clavicle.

The music was slowing, flowing into its ending notes as he spun her unnecessarily rough once, twice, stopping just as the final chord struck.

As if broken from a trance, Draco let go of her harshly, taking a giant step back as the rest of the students who hadn't been dancing applauded. Without so much as a backward glance, he turned, striding hurriedly through the crowd and toward the wide double doors.

Gemma watched his retreating back, stunned by his abrupt mood swing as he ignored Pansy's reaching grasp and disappeared into the Entrance Hall.

She didn't know if it was the sudden lack of warmth, the still dizzying effects of the waltz, or the butterbeer as he'd accused earlier that made her do it, but suddenly Gemma was striding out of the Great Hall after him.

Harry's questioning call fell deaf to her ears as she hiked up the hem of her dress, pushing through the unbothered stragglers who were leisurely making their way back to their dorms.

She burst into the foyer, trying to determine which way he could've gone, when she saw the swish of black and slip of near-white disappear up one of the staircases. Gemma half-jogged toward it, a hunch about where he was headed forming in the back of her mind.

As she predicted, she followed him higher and higher through the castle.

They climbed staircase after staircase, until finally, the biting winter air met her warm skin. He was leaning against the farthest railing of the Astronomy Tower, silhouetted against the glow of the castle grounds below, which had been decorated just as lavishly as the interior.

Draco's hand was pulling a familiarly cylindrical shape from his pocket when Gemma spoke.

"You know, with the amount of running away you do, I suspect you're a decent shot at tag."

He didn't even bother to turn his head as he responded.

"Why is it you're always bringing up ridiculous Muggle games?"

"They make good analogies," she shrugged coming to stand next to him at the railing.

The wind played at her cheeks as she gripped the rounded wood, looking out at the distant mountains. 

"It's my birthday."

She wasn't sure why she said it. Why she thought he'd care.

Maybe it was because he was the only one besides her friends who didn't treat her like some new-found celebrity, waiting for her to either win it all or fail miserably. Whether she was a champion, a detention partner, or just the transfer student Gemma Bane, he hated her just the same as he always had.

At least that was something constant.

But maybe, she told him simply because she wanted him to know.

Draco didn't say anything. She didn't expect him to.

He did turn to look at her though, eyes as slated as ever as they slid over her features. They were close again, almost as close as they had been in the hidden alcove the other night in the hallway.

Gemma felt the same sensation of him being everywhere all at once.

The trickles of laughter from the courtyards below were lost echoes in the breeze as they wound their way up through the night.

For a second his face seemed to draw even closer still.

But then Draco's gaze was on her neck, back ramrod straight as he pulled away. He sucked a deep drag from the smoke in his hand, turning back to the darkness in front of them.

"Shouldn't you be spending it with your little golden boyfriend then?" he asked, breath visible against the cold, "Thanking him for the gift."

She didn't miss the way he side-eyed the gold charm at the base of her throat.

"Cedric isn't my boyfriend," Gemma folded her arms defiantly, "And Harry gave this to me."

"Ah, right. Forgot how much of a whore you are."

Gemma's mouth went dry.

She stared at Draco in shock, the backs of her eyes burning.

"What did you just call me?" she whispered, voice scratchy in her throat.

"I called you a whore," he said again, "Take one champion to the dance, shag the other in the comfort of the Gryffindor dorms"

Gemma had to swallow to prevent her tears from escaping the whites of her eyes.

She would not give him the satisfaction of seeing her cry. Especially not over some petty comment about her sex life.

"Rita Skeeter would have a field day if she found out."

"So tell her then!" Gemma shouted, anger boiling over as she looked back into his impassive face, "Tell her how much of a slag I am. That I fuck anything that crosses my path. That I throw myself at all the boys' feet because I'm so _unflatteringly desperate!"_

She was well and thoroughly mad now.

"Tell her whatever you want Malfoy, but make sure that when you do, you mention that there's one exception to my little rule," she took a threatening step closer to him, tilting her head back so she could look the ruthless bastard directly in the eyes, "That no matter how desperate I become, it will never, _ever,_ be you."

Draco watched as the barely burning embers of rolled paper descended to the earth below, letting them fall through his fingertips and over the edge. Snuffed out as if they'd never been lit in the first place.

"Good. I wouldn't dare fuck a Mudblood anyway."

And then he was striding down the stairs and Gemma was left alone in the wake of his words in the Astronomy Tower for the second time.

She tasted the tears before she felt them as she slid to the ground, her knees hitting the rough wood floor. Her chest shook as she tried to control her breathing, fists balling up the material of her skirt, willing herself to keep up the dam.

But it was too late, a crack had formed in the barrier she'd built, and she felt the sadness that was normally walled away leaking through the cracks.

Very few people knew her father had been a Muggle, the trio and Ginny being the only ones at school she'd entrusted with the knowledge. She wasn't sure how Draco and found out, who if anyone had told him, but she didn't suspect it was a hard puzzle to piece together.

His dad worked at the Ministry just like her mother, and it wasn't some big secret the Bane's kept under lock and key.

Technically, Gemma and Gideon were half-bloods. Not that it mattered to families as prestigious as the Malfoy's.

Anyone who wasn't purely wizard through and through was as good as rubbish in their eyes.

It had never mattered to Gemma that her father had no magical capabilities. He had still been a great dad. He'd cared for her and her brother, he'd loved her mother, he did everything he could to make them happy.

And Godric, did she miss him.

She missed them all.

At that moment, she almost wished there hadn't been a Yule Ball, that she could've gone home and spent the holidays with her family as she always did, curled up on the sofa and cleaning up shattered plates after Gideon.

Not having to read their well wishes in a letter and open their gifts alone in her bedroom.

The joy she'd felt dancing with her friends was long gone, replaced by a dull ache between her temples.

She sniffled into her hands.

"Is Miss Gemma alright?"

Gemma jumped at the squeaking voice, head whipping toward its source. Dobby was standing in his ragged pillowcase frock, layers of tiny knit socks covering his feet, and a large, plainly wrapped parcel held tightly to his chest.

"Dobby! You scared me!" said Gemma.

"Sorry, Dobby didn't mean to frighten Miss Gemma," he hobbled over toward her, arms outstretched as he placed the package lightly atop her lap, "Dobby has a delivery. He was instructed to get it to you right away, Miss Gemma."

"Oh," Gemma furrowed her brows, "Who's it from?"

"Dobby isn't sure. A stranger, Miss. Dobby couldn't see his face." Dobby wrung his hands, eyes wide, ears perked as he watched her examine the parcel for any sign of sender.

"Happy Birthday, Miss Gemma."

Gemma gave the best smile she could muster.

"Thank you, Dobby."

With a resounding crack, the house-elf Disapparated, presumably back down to the kitchens to help finish cleaning up after the ball with the rest of his companions.

Gemma peered at the brown paper resting before her, unsure if it was a wise idea to open it.

Figuring with the lousy turn her night had taken, it couldn't get much worse, she carefully began to undo the bits of twine holding the lumpy package together.

From within the wrappings, she pulled out a soft bundle of Gryffindor red and gold. Unfolding it, she realized it was a scarf, with small tassels dangling from either end.

Confused as to why anyone would send her an unmarked parcel containing a lone scarf, Gemma tried to fish through the discarded paper, searching for some sort of note or indication as to the origins of the package. To her dismay, there was nothing.

She turned it over, running her fingers over its plush threads as she examined it. Only then did she realize there was something else at the bottom.

Right in the center of the last maroon stripe, embroidered in shiny gold, were the initials JP.

Gemma touched them lightly, frowning.

She wracked her brain for anyone's name that could fit the lettering, running first through first names that started with J, and when only coming up with Justin Finch-Fletchley began recounting surnames that started with P.

Parkinson, Patil, Pomfrey, Pippin...

J. Pippin. The potions seller from the shop in Hogsmeade. But why would he send her a birthday present? And why a scarf with his own initials on it?

It didn't make any sense.

He had said he knew her mother, so she supposed it was possible he had found out today was Gemma's birthday that way. He had seemed rather fond of Jocelyn and that other woman, Lily Evans.

Glasses, round like Harry's.

Auburn hair, the sweet smile of a woman taken too soon.

It all seemed to slot itself together behind her closed eyelids as Gemma drew in a sharp inhale of realization.

JP.

James Potter. Lily Evans.

Lily and James.

Harry's parents.

Jocelyn's mother had been friends with Harry's parents. 

Even if the scarf was Pip's and not James', the story fit.

Gemma was shaking.

Lily's eyes in the photograph, she knew she'd recognized them from somewhere.

They were the same eyes of her best friend.

But what reason could Jocelyn have for hiding this from her daughter?

Gemma's head spun.

She wanted to go find Harry. Wanted to go write to her mom. Wanted to scream. It felt like every corner she turned there was some new challenge awaiting her, a new task to survive, a confusing bit of past to uncover, a twisted person to solve.

The tears came harder this time as she finally let herself fully collapse her weight into the railing, sagging into the beams. All the frustration of the past few months came out in slow, salty waves, as silent as the night as they slipped through her lashes.

She had no way of knowing what happened between Jocelyn and Harry's parents. Her mother certainly wouldn't tell her if she'd refrained from mentioning it all these years.

But there was one thing Gemma was certain of.

Whoever had entered Harry into the tournament knew, and for some reason, they had entered Gemma too.

The bells rang out in the distance, tinny in their echo as they finally struck midnight. Her pumpkin carriage had collapsed, the glass slippers shattered with the remnants of what she thought she knew about her mother.

She watched a speck of white as it descended from the blackened sky.

It was snowing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> DISCLAIMER:
> 
> I do not own any of the original Harry Potter characters, world, or plot. The stories and their livelihood belong to J.K. Rowling. Any characters, world-building, or plotlines that diverge from the original books alternatively are mine.
> 
> This story is also posted on Wattpad under the same username 'lacedpink'. Both of these accounts are owned by me!


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